Nowadays, when you ask someone about Canadian rap, there are a few answers that may pop up. A few may mention Shad, the older generation of hip hop heads may mention veteran Kardinal Offishall, but the majority will mention one person, and one person only. Drizzy Drake.
Drake is Toron- uh, I mean the 6’s- claim to fame. We knew him before the world did, through Degrassi: The Next Generation. It’s why we’re also quick to point out that there wasn’t ever a bottom for “wheelchair Jimmy”. Drake was on the come up before the come up.
Toronto’s not the only one to make fun of Degrass- I mean Drake’s success. Fans, frenemies, and foes alike target the rapper for being, well, soft. What else could a rich kid from Forest Hill be though? Drake’s emotions make him a target for online witticisms; witty criticism we might call it. In most cases, they’re actually pretty hilarious.
We love to hate the guy, but it’s also evident that we can’t get enough of him. If Drake was a cupcake, he’d be the one with just the right amount of icing. Drake is the feeling of waking up and realized you’ve still got 3 hours to sleep. He’s the exception to the rule “no new friends”. Puppy Kisses. Ice cream cones. Milk that is not spilt. Drake is Toronto’s first snowfall, before the winters get dreary. Our special snowflake is keeping it hot up in the 6, boi. Most of all, he knows that is is all working for him:
Somewhere in the world, Drake lies in bed, with a glass of moscato on his bedside table. He takes a sip before he pulls out his tablet to Google himself; a part of his nightly rituals. He finds my blog. As he reads this entry, a few teardrops fall onto the screen of his iPad. He hastily wipes them away with the sleeve of his soft bath robe, and carries on reading; “I am strong today, I can finish this,” he thinks. He reaches the end, sees his lyrics, and smiles. “Shots fired,” Drake whispers.