Clipse - Let God Sort Em Out (Album)
After years of rumors, teases, and hopes riding high, Clipse has finally returned with their fourth studio album, “Let God Sort Em Out”, a title that speaks directly to the duo’s legendary status and unfiltered lyricism. This is no half-step comeback. This is a full-circle, no-holds-barred return with Pharrell handling all production duties solo, without his usual Neptunes counterpart Chad Hugo. The result? A cold, calculated, and impeccable soundscape that gives Pusha T and Malice the perfect terrain to unleash.
From the jump, the album reacts with vicious precision. There’s no question: this is luxury drug rap elevated to a divine level. Both Pusha and Malice take center stage throughout, sometimes splitting the spotlight evenly, other times one stepping into the light a little more depending on the story being told. But make no mistake, this is Clipse, not a solo project with a feature. The chemistry is intact. The hunger is back. The scriptures are street.
“Whips and Chains” with Kendrick Lamar, quite possibly the most anticipated track on the album, and it delivers. Kendrick floats between violent introspection and societal critique, while Clipse stand ten toes in their conviction. It’s haunting, beautiful, and heavy. In “P.O.V” with Tyler, The Creator; Pharrell’s influence bleeds through in the production, and Tyler’s verse feels like he walked through the church of Clipse, took a seat in the front pew, and testified. This one knocks. “F.I.C.O” featuring Stove God Cooks is a masterclass in luxury trap. Stove God sounds right at home among the titans, offering one of his slickest choruses to date, while Push and Malice deliver bars that’ll require multiple listens to fully unpack. Pharrell may not be producing with Chad this go-around, but his fingerprints are all over this record, from layered harmonies to unexpected falsettos. He haunts these songs like a ghost in the machine, never overpowering, always present.
Clipse paints portraits in powder white, cocaine tales laced with raw, uncut gems that hit harder with every listen. Malice, now fully transformed yet still entrenched in the rugged truths of the world, is doing the Lord’s work from the trenches. His verses cut through with spiritual weight, like sermons on survival delivered from the pulpit of pain.
Meanwhile, Pusha T floats in familiar territory, but this time with a sharper grace, like a swordsman who’s mastered the art of both presence and patience. He’s no stranger to controversy, and on this album, he embraces it as a badge, pressing the gas on lifestyle raps so witty, your favorite rapper might feel disrespected and rightfully so. Each bar carries opulence wrapped in scripture, making luxury sound like prophecy. The duo mimics biblical essence, but the Bible in question might have a Wraith parked out front, wrapped in plastic, waiting on divine judgment. And judgment does come but not from them. They let the Lord sort it out, watching as favor falls on the worthy and failure plagues the fraudulent.
“Let God Sort ‘Em Out” isn’t just a reunion. The album cements Clipse’s legacy not just as pioneers of coke rap but as master craftsmen who can return after a decade and still sound sharper than most of the game. The production is prestigious, the verses impactful, and the themes unchanged yet evolved, proof that authenticity ages like fine wine when it’s rooted in truth. This isn’t rap. It’s revelation. And it’s only for those ready to receive it.