There's no denying that the marketing statement used by Gibbs was spot-on in his description of what is, to this day ten years later, likely his greatest and most cohesive hour of mafioso material: "a gangster Blaxploitation film on wax," is exactly what his Cocaine Piñata is. "I had a dream, dog, that I had a little baby. The little baby's birthday was here [...] little four-year-old kids hitting dope in piñatas. I don't know. It was a crazy ass dream. So, I just called that shit Cocaine Piñata."

His initial mob narrative, starting from Gary, Indiana to his at-present-still second-home of Los Angeles, certainly meanders well enough, in its second half splitting away—after Thuggin' waxes lyrical about historical affectations and his explosive rise after years of local hits—towards more singular topics. It works out to great effect, though, preaching only so much for his rocky path to his success; he's still attentive enough, even amongst painted pictures of drug-addled lows in poverty-stricken home life, to praise the community he grew up with at a hometown restaurant on Harold's.

The pairing between himself and Madlib was a wonderful gift, weaving seamlessly the dusty but acutely detailed chops of a legendary beatsmith, with the bravado of someone like Gibbs, his distinct vocal affect and delivery smooth-as-butter, mixed in and around scenes cut and pasted in from choice films. The hat drops with a title card, "they're supplying dope to the Black and Mexican communities," as introduction before Scarface draws parallels of drug-dealing and mafia ties; tiny sampling pin drops speed past in the first of many freakishly attuned backdrops, brush strokes both detailed and hazy, in its effortless, criminal ego.

And the next set of five come across as tone-setters in their own right, well-choreographed shifts that each accent a specific theme of the record; dealers and love stories on Deeper, the aforementioned chicken shop on Harold's, explosive crime dealings on Bomb, and the community and culture surrounding on Shitsville. High is without a doubt the most immediate of the bunch though, a lounge-hop trip that Freddie flows near effortlessly on before Danny Brown's euphoric peaks via his now-patented delivery, accentuating everything about the theme and instrumental perfectly.

The interjections add well to the imagery, tone, and setting of it all, with Deeper as the first succinct moment where movie samples create that foggy atmosphere needed to match Gibbs's storytelling; its effect as an individual cut might not be the most well-mixed in the first half by any means, but it bridges the gap well. Bomb's natural smoothness through the repeated soft key loops pair with Raekwon's weathered flow as a nice chasing third verse, and its auditory mixing is likely the album's best, well-attenuated superbly.

Despite all the praise for everything around him, Gibbs really is the main draw, even if the instrumental backing does a great deal of marketing for his voice; Shitsville's framing of American culture and conflict is one of the most poignant moments, incorporating the crime lifestyle so advertised with what makes it so inevitable for those very communities. And its knockout second verse to thematic outro to Thuggin's forenamed ethereal looped chimes and unfuckwithable commentary—on its kayfabe as result of historical and present oppression—is wondrous, and the first half's peak in all regards; it's timeless.

Real is an anomaly though, a two-part suite of a diss track as a result of now-squashed beef, but it matches with the skyline of the rest of the record well. Though its just after where the pace of the tracklist does slow a bit perceptibly, lessening its urgency; Robes's stretched-thin duration on pre-expounded themes—despite Earl Sweatshirt's curmudgeonly (complimentary) presence—is a bit tacit, and Broken as longing for a past home life doesn't recreate (as well) a fitting environment for its heady theme, again despite Scarface's contribution.

But that's about all there is left to zoom in on and critique, despite maybe the thematic jumps in sequencing for the last five songs. Uno is angrily jaw-dropping, accentuating the point of chanting 'number 1' as in the hook above sinister stings and backing horns—and Shame has a diamond-studded instrumental twinkling like magic, with BJ the Chicago Kid's contribution meshed seamlessly with the sampled soul cut, updating that track with raunchy, energetic imagery. And the casualness of Knicks fits as a ride-out, cooldown epilogue (with genuine fun coming through the mic) after the transplant commentary on Lakers, about Los Angeles and Freddie's deep connection to both it and the people he's found in it; it's likely the most sentimental on the project, all atop longing strings.

The title track is the culmination of all previous sentiments though, a seven verse monolith to end on—well, besides the double fake-out ending, from sinister loops on an extended film clip to a playful voice memo. It is immediately one of the greatest, best-fitting instrumentals of the last decade, with layered, dusty string arpeggios and a dramatic bass & drum sting at the end of a bar, suiting each guest altogether immaculately. The first verse courtesy of Domo Genesis is a slight cold start that introduces well, but the macho, hard-hitting performances from Gibbs and G-Wiz shine brightly for the first half. The start-stop, unkempt flow of Casey Veggies is charismatic as well, a blend that hits in his own unique way, before Sulaiman seamlessly shifts into frame with lines on Ice Cube, tombstones, and Vicodin. But Meechy Darko is without a doubt the high-water mark, reaching a crescendo with an absolutely murderous flow, highlighting exactly how commanding he is over the instrumental; his line "So I voice my fucking voice, I don't have a fucking choice" hits like an anvil to the head. Mac Miller's contribution closes it out even more off-kilter than the sum of every other contributor, and it's not always better for it, but his final lines contribute well to crowning this as one of the best posse cuts of all time.

And as the credits roll, the spiritual connection between that track and Thuggin' sort of fades into view. It shows a bit more clearly the commentary on the crime-riddled lives Gibbs saw around him in Gary, to the people around him now that 'made it out', and that lifestyle only taking you to explosive ends. I wouldn't venture so far as to say it's some wildly evident, purposefully set exposition of that messaging, but the proof is in how that mafioso aesthetic falls to the wayside just a bit by the end, instead replaced with new locations, the people in and around them, their connections, and moving on towards succeeding with your group of "all the mother fuckers in the rap game worth fucking with". Piñata operates similarly to those gangster films it's inspired by: it glorifies while undermining, balancing on a tight rope just like the people caught up in the systems it discusses. It communicates its points brilliantly—and it just so happens to sound like a stoned, trance-like paradise as you step through the spilled dope of its insides.