Album Review: GOD BLESSING ALL THE FAT NIGGAS 2 by BFB Da Packman
A Flint mail carrier turned rap’s filthiest comedian checks his MyChart between strip-club anthems. The punchlines and the confessions come out of the same cup.
For a while in Michigan, one of the funniest rappers had to be a mailman. Carrying routes for the U.S. Postal Service down in Houston, a transplant of Flint packing up parcels working on the filthiest stuff in the Midwest, and “Free Joe Exotic,” a 202 tag team with Sada Baby, was BFB Da Packman’s break. He has been turning this bit up since, making to Fat Jesus, saying hello with a telemarker’s “Y’ello,” and begging listeners, mid-lib, never to say the Lunch Crew Company on their own. GOD BLESSING ALL THE FAT NIGGAS 2 traces back to a blessing he originally doled out in 2019, when the route still was his, and the subsequent years have left some mild under the punchlines.
“No Murk,” he needs a doctor for the dog shit in his pants, and the indignities only get worse from there. His mama counts the skimping and says he won’t live past December, so he lays down a one-line grievance on her bedside manner: “That is a harsh woman.” The food bars act like vitals, bouillon and croutons, and a Cornish hen with a brother who has bird flu, and when a woman charges too much, she requests a coupon on principle. He holds straight on a “Lil Crack Baby,” swearing off jewelry for the stock market and asking for every damn dollar down to that EDD check. Even he doesn’t get his hands around his own relationship: “My bitch bad and I’m ugly, wonder what she see in me.”
KrispyLife Kidd responds equally for insults on “Shit Talking Jazz,” a duet so unserious that the two end up teaching a one-two step and arguing over the in the Kris, as K, and Kidd’s dole out the nastiest to-guest list: “She been stuffin’ too many pills, caught a yeast infection.” RMC Mike takes the pettiest shaming, knocking out a rival that “went to jail for just nine pills” and ordering Ruth’s Chris over in a macaroni on the “9 Pills,” where Packman says he listens to Kevin Gates to lose weight and asks someone to let know 50 Cent he is trying to break into acting before putting it back to the mail. Mike cracks a pint and stacks a hundred on “Special education,” drops the clip and does it all over again, and Packman ends the entire debate with, “Fuck top 5, we the top 1.” Key Glock hangs out alone in the deep water of the late Tay Keith production “Cheesing,” measuring his G6’s fade against Bobby Brown’s, and Gates himself shows up on “CryBaby” fresh from the gym with Morris Chestnut, sending a woman Keith Sweat to make her last. He coasts once, on “Bad Bunny,” pouring Don Reposado for the section and chanting at a stripper like any rapper with a Miami tab.
Getting near to him takes a paper, and, to “MyChart,” that means the portal over patient, given over before emotions enter, while he keeps himself to the same rules of disclosure: “Should’ve bought a therapist, I rather buy Percs.” He plans on dying turnt and sleeps hooked up to a CPAP. The greatest minute of “MyChart,” Packman just talking, back to Eddie V’s, talking about a stranger clocking the Spudd Jeweler chain and how he asked his date if the piece was actually moving in across from him. By “Cully Music,” he names his hypothetical daughter Wocktrisha and shoving cucumber and kale through a five-hundred dollar juicer, chucks down the donuts and promises: “Gotta live for these kids, I can’t drop dead.” And on “ButterBall Shawty” he tells a woman to give him a pic of their MyChart before he picks her up.
The purple he charges by the pint ceases to be funny on “Impossible Happiness,” where he is popping pills, chasing a high never found, and detailing the lashing out: “I lash out, now they calling me thug/Really I’m looking for love.” He just can't bring himself to ask his mother for a hug. A Glock remains under the pillow to serve the demons, and he freely admits he is tired of living. A woman asks if he feels like he needs pills, and he speaks in circles about how to know what is right from wrong before cutting off mid-sentence. The gags seep through even on “Self Therapy”: “Lifted did the beat, it’s tighter than a virgin.” He requests beats so he can complain to them rather than a woman, and drops the dole for the family on record: “My daddy, he was weak, fell victim to that crack/How couldn’t I talk ‘bout him? I fell victim to that purple.” He pleads with a doctor for another bottle to kill the pain and tests his own urine for kidney. His sons get a guarantee that he is working being somebody he can follow.
He came hungry, remembering on “Escort Love,” the days starving he settled on a fleece over a coat, the black mold he killed bleached off had slept, and his rule on the when he was teenager: “Before I start cooking crack, got to make my mama leave.” He lets Jalen Cox, rest in peace, know that he knows he’s proud. The escorts he caught on never have to lie to him, and the family gets planned out in his single real currency, lots of cheese aside for the kids when he leaves for the after. Even the will has a food joke.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “MyChart,” “9 Pills,” “Self Therapy”