10. Eminem – "So Far…"
The "Mo Money Mo Problems" for rich dudes who just wanna drop a deuce in a McDonalds bathroom. Forty-year-old Marshall Mathers wrestles the fame monster, and it doesn't get Eddie Vedder than this. C.W.
9.
Young Thug – "Picacho"
With Lil Wayne now on a puckish crusade to orally pleasure yo mama and foul every punch bowl he can reach with his still-rich-as-fuck, post-incarceration pimp stick, it's left to this Atlanta MC to push the boundaries of what's rapping and what's hysterically spontaneous jibber-jabber. And he's up to the task on this hysterically spontaneous track, jibber-jabbering his own jabberwocky hypnotically, with a constantly fluctuating tone and accent, sounding like he's always clearing his throat, navigating a cubistic cascade of synths (from producer Jay Neutron), bragging that his diamonds can wink and his watch is Italian and he wears slippers and yacht shoes and he'll hoot and screech "Picacho" (pronounced like both the Pokemon character or "peek at you") at anybody in the club. It's no "Ha," but it's a new day. C.A.
8
Travi$ Scott, feat. 2 Chainz – "Upper Echelon"
You could retitle Owl Pharoah, Travi$ Scott's debut full-length, as Children of the Screw, for how this manic Houston producer-rapper (and Kanye sidekick) taps into his hometown's tradition of dank, turgid, spooky dislocation and shoots it up with a we-so-fuckin'-high, kid-like bravado. Everybody's poppin' Xannies and partyin' at the Sphinx, while T.I. shouts, "I'm a king, motherfucker, who the hell are you?" amid incessant horn fanfares and snares stretched into pinpricks. Basically, this couldn't be more of an invitation for 2 Chainz to slide down the chimney and bless all the good little boys and girls with a bounty of naughty punch lines: "Uh, pull up in the 'rari / My ho beside me / It's a two-seater / Your bitch can't ride / Ho, I'm sorry." Ho, ho, ho to one and all. C.A
7
Big Sean, feat. Kendrick Lamar, Jay Electronica – "Control"
And with a single verse, the rap game changed forever. "I had women on women, yeah that's bunk bed bitches." "You gon' get this rain like it's May weather." "Forever hot-headed but never got cold feet." By gosh, Big Sean just slays here, a brash, confrontational tour de force that brought Twitter to its knees, inspired bar-raising answer records by everyone from Fred the Godson to Papoose, and totally established Big S as the hottest MC in the game, let alone on this, his own song, which in a bittersweet addendum, also featured two other rappers so thoroughly clowned by his typhoon of lyrical acumen that they were never heard from again. May weather! Mayweather! Like the boxer! This one gets five out of five Big Seans. ROB HARVILLA
#6
Rich Homie Quan – "Type of Way"
With producer Yung Carter's vaguely eerie suite of synth guitar/horns/what-have-you hovering (like a Mike WiLL Made It preset) and Atlanta MC (and Future stan) Rich Homie Quan's crying-style of vocalizing, one might be tempted to shout foul. But the more you let Carter's track drift along, the more you become entranced by its peculiar, light-on-its-feet, almost dancehall riddim ("My Jamaican Guy"?), and RHQ's odd, anxious #hashtag exploration of the emotion behind other people's jealousy, peppered with his own moments of raw, fourth-wall-breaking honesty: "I got a hideaway / And I go there sometimes / To give my mind a break." Ultimately, these guys find their own type of way. C.A.
5
Chance the Rapper – "Chain Smoker"
This prodigiously talented, "brain-broken, Frank Ocean-listenin', stain-hittin', satin-wood-grain-grippin'" Chicago rap nerd writes songs with such a boldly multifaceted whir of implied emotions and points of view that for any slumming outsider to try and elevate it above the genre and call it, say, refreshing, should be grounds for beef. C.A.
4
Rocko, feat. Kendrick Lamar, Schoolboy Q, Ab-Soul & Jay Rock – "U.O.E.N.O." (Black Hippy Remix)
So Rick Ross (the rapper not the drug dealer) matter-of-factly boasts about drugging and date-raping a girl, and after a groundswell of opposition (his murderous-international-drug-lord character finally crossed the line, apparently), he gets tossed off the track like so much recycled garbage, metaphor intended. No problem, since Childish Major's production was the song's nerve center all along — the quixotic, trapped-in-a-cloud beat woozily shielding its eyes from the sun, again and again. Black Hippy's remix was the most memorable of many, amping up the flow as Schoolboy Q brazenly subtweeted Ross: "Molly in her drink, but she asked me to." C.A.
#3
Kanye West – "Black Skinhead"
With a death-grip on the mic amid a cataclysmic, industrial-punk thud (courtesy of Daft Punk and French techno ruffian Gessafelstein), Our Lord and Savior Yeezus Christ blacks out about mass incarceration and never-not-mutating racism atop a vaporous mountain of Louis Vuitton pipedreams, then instructs his minions to burn their gold, grind it to powder, scatter it on a glass of water, and swallow the bitter result. Wait, that was Black Moses, right?! Regardless, here is Yehovah's Cray-Baldheads communiqué for Americans who find him (and other African-American agitpoppers) a nuisance or hypocritical or worse: Slavery and its ongoing damage ain't your fault, huh? You're bummed you can't say "nigga" like all those entitled nasty rappers? That's not the fucking issue, cowboy. C.A.
2
Migos, feat. Drake – "Versace (Remix)"
"Oh, shit, man, who that is?" It took 21 long years for Toronto/Atlanta relations to thaw in the wake of 1992's contentious Blue Jays/Braves World Series, but here, finally, is the endearingly cocky, magnificently knuckleheaded, triumphantly infectious one-word-repeated-until-it-scans-as-glorious-nonsense earworm upon which both David Justice and Dave Winfield can agree, here with a bonus Drizzy verse full of the most endearing lies he told all year (his record didn't quite crack a million first week, and we're assuming that whole Halle Berry thing didn't work out). The love child of Steve Reich and Gucci Mane; hopefully, Versace wrote 'em a golf-tournament-sized novelty check. R.H.
1
Ace Hood, feat. Future, Rick Ross – "Bugatti"
Hard-hustlin' South Florida Lotto winner hides in the trunk of reigning club-rap production auteur (Mike WiLL Made It) and unassailable hook-captain (Future). The beat creeps and races and shivers like an anxiety disorder orchestrated for lazer synths, while the Auto-Tune sing-song and agitated verses lure you into a Grand Theft Auto hellscape of Haitian gangsters, omni-racial orgies, stacks stained with blood, discussion of Ace Hood's mortgage ($4,200!), and Officer Jelly Belly braggin' about his "D-League" hitmen (what, dudes who shoot like Travis Leslie?). But that's all noise: Bottom line, the chorus will make any dance floor go kablooey on impact, like a dubstep drop without cartoon quotes around it. C.A.