If you’ve paid attention to hip-hop in the last few years, you should at least know of Gunna. But you could listen to every Gunna project and feature twice and still have no idea who he actually is. The Atlanta rapper has found kinship with Young Thug, unsurprising considering how close their voices are to one another. He’s the raisin of rap: unappealing, unexciting, yet somehow still found everywhere.

Gunna is certainly on a lot of people's Rolodexes, featuring on tracks from the likes of both Playboi Carti and Mariah Carey. He might be in such high demand because of how reliable he is, for better or worse (mostly worse). The only impression a Gunna feature leaves is no impression, but he can round out a light guest list and maybe he’s a really cool guy to chill with in the studio? He’s like a pinch hitter who keeps getting called up even though he’s never getting past first base.

Given how underwhelming he is on other people's tracks, it’s no wonder that full-length Gunna projects are exercises in tedium, lifted up only by producers like Metro Boomin and London on da Track or fellow rappers, like on Drip Harder, last year’s collaborative project with Lil Baby. His dull flow blurs the songs together, ensuring you’re ready for things to wrap up well before the halfway point. The reassurance of a producer tag at the beginning of a track is just barely enough to power you through. He's the kind of guy to write a line like “You lil' n—-s copy and paste” and not realize the irony.

Despite its title sounding like just another mixtape to throw on the pile, Drip or Drown 2 is actually Gunna’s full-length album debut. For a bit, it seems like one that can at least earn a soft endorsement. It’s largely on the back of vibrant production from Turbo and (especially) Wheezy, who provide melodic and textural depth to compensate for Gunna’s shortcomings, like on the cinematic ‘Outstanding’ or the blissed-out ‘Richard Millie Plain’. But Gunna at least seems to apply himself a bit more than usual. He smartly chose ‘One Call’ as the lead single, and even if his lyrics are surface level (“It's a nine in the bag that I tote/ Workin' hard, we ain't havin' no hope”), he’s able to convey some kind of feeling and tell us more than just about how much sex he gets and how rich he is.

A limited range in lyrical topics isn’t the biggest liability, and it’s something you have to accept as a fan of trap. But Gunna rehashes the same topics as everyone else without any sort of modicum of creative flair. Lines like “I’m drippin' like a sink” and “It get hotter than Hell” come straight from the My First Similes playbook. As bland as they read on paper, they come across even weaker on record. His flow is unaffected and unchanging, and he seems contemptuous about the idea of even making a record. At the beginning of ‘3-Headed Snake’, it sounds like he’s mumbling in his sleep. The lyrics of ‘Speed It Up’ are so barebones and unimaginative, they’re like a high schooler cranking out an essay during lunch on its due date.

Listening to Gunna, it’s hard to not feel like Ben Wyatt in regards to Li’l Sebastian. There’s so much hype around him, but you’re just left dumbfounded as to why. So many tracks slip through your consciousness, particularly with how much he sticks to the formula of chorus/verse/chorus/verse/chorus. His dullness sucks the life out of typically energetic guests like Playboi Carti, whose feature is less Die Lit and more Diluted. On ‘3-Headed Snake’, his mentor, Young Thug, offers this bit of absurd wisdom: “Jeepers creepers, the gators got measles, shit.” Call it nonsense, but it still lands better and says more than Gunna ever has.