When lil' rappers like Drizzy Drake go to sleep at night, of what do they dream?
A Miami Vice-slash-Scarface world in which they are outlaw heroes with a mansion, an armory stocked with illegal machine guns, a closet full of suits and t-shirts, and an ethnically ambiguous girlfriend who needs to be rescued.
Of course, Drake is rich and famous enough to buy his wildest fantasies now. So instead of music videos, he's making elaborately art directed, meta-awesome, seven-minute versions of his best (wet?) dreams, as based on '80s TV shows and movies.
Just check the cut for an extremely detailed breakdown of Drizzy and A$AP's Miami Vice ripoff.
0:16 - 0:23
Let's set the scene ... If you can read that faux-retro '80s font, it's "Miami, 1985." That's why everybody's wearing suits with t-shirts and fat gold chains like senile retirees on coke.
WTF? A$AP Rocky?! You're not even supposed to be born for another three years!
Maybe it's time-traveling sickness. Or maybe he mixed too much ecstasy with too much bubbly. But Rocky's getting all sappy and intimate and heartfelt, babbling through some toast about how "I wanna let you guys know how proud I am of y'all."
This is South Beach. It's the '80s. When are we gonna shoot some motherfuckers with a machine gun?
Why's Drizzy Drake looking at A$AP like he's a cherry-flavored Tootsie Pop? And we though the toastmaster overdid it with the MDMA and champagne ...
This is the only Caucasian in Drake's crew. He looks like a villain from a New Wave music video. And he's wearing eye liner. The subliminal message: Don't trust Whitey!
This is a mansion with two jacuzzis, Olympic-sized pool, and a waterfall sex grotto. You don't own one.
This is an ethnically ambiguous girlfriend whose only job is wearing lingerie and doing her hair all day. You don't have one.
This is a home invader. Hide the cookies!
Drake gets a phone call in the club from a guy whose voice he doesn't like. He puts his hand over his mouth to express surprise. He closes his eyes in melodramatic despair. He rubs his face a lot.
This probably isn't a botched pizza delivery.
Homie's girlfriend's been abducted!
Drizzy doesn't even bother to properly hang up the telephone. Yeah, he's that pissed.
And the evil mastermind behind the whole thing is ... Manny from Scarface? How the fuck did you survive those two gunshots to the chest, meng?
Drizzy and crew rush back to the mansion (that you don't own) to change out of their senile-retirees-on-coke clothes and gear up for battle and shit.
Ooohhh ... Pouty war face!
Ooohhh ... Machine guns!
One of Drake's bros catches the Caucasian in a dark room, acting creeping, talking into a yellow phone, saying shit like, "It's going just like you planned." The not-so-subliminal message: Don't trust Whitey!
If you've ever wondered about the dress code for a gangland shootout ... All black, sweat pants, hoodie, ski mask.
In the Land Rover on the way to rescue Drizzy's chick, the bro leans over toward the boss and whispers in his ear. The message: Don't trust Whitey!
Ooohhh ... Pouty war face!
On the advice of trusted counsel, Drake don't trust Whitey. So he shoots him in the head.
But when you blow one Whitey's brains out ... Another pops up.
Soon, a gangland shootout erupts. But thankfully, Drizzy is properly dressed. So he's killin' 'em.
Meanwhile, Drake's girlfriend has escaped. And she's running, bare assed, through a low-rent Port of Miami.
Umm ... Is it OK for kidnapping to be sexy?
Drizzy and crew try to kill Manny from Scarface by blasting a bunch of barrels of explosive material. And alright, that might seem like overkill. But, y'know, dude already survived double bullet wounds to the vital organ area.
So ... Blammo! Let's be sure, meng.
Now ... Why is this second Caucasian strangling Drake's girlfriend?
So Drizzy can heroically kill Whitey!
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Drake wraps his chick in the black hoodie off his back. Because her butt is exposed. And her butt is cold. And the sweatshirt (almost) covers her butt.