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That sequel, man, some people dismissed it for its admittedly low budget production, but that was literally the only crit I could accept for it. Killer Mike had persevered through all his label drama and evolved into the closest thing to prime Ice Cube we’ve ever had, a street-ass bearded ladies man who just so happened to have his ears and soul much closer to the essences of street living and black religious culture than most would be able to witness at first glance. Three years later and Mike is the rare rapper that can flit between songs about strip clubs and Gucci bags one moment, and deconstructions of the Eddie Long controversy the next without ever sounding unbelievable. As such, the motivational potency of his music is matched by a very, very select few on the current hip-hop landscape. He’s a star that’s just like us, a success story more interested in teaching his listeners how to pattern their life after his rather than simply brag about what he’s accomplished.

See the full article from “PopMatters”