Rapstreet boys (continued)

Given the lengths to which the Game goes to prove or tries to prove he’s taken advantage of the fact that anybody can become a best-selling rap artist if he’s willing to, uh, play the game, 50 Cent’s rant about the Game — that he’s an opportunist, raps terribly, and had little to do with The Documentary’s success — seems more self-indicting than anything. Thing is if 50, G-Unit’s de facto leader, thinks he’s any more of a rapper than Game, well, his new The Massacre (Aftermath) doesn’t do much to help his case.

Yeah, he’s got a sweet-sounding voice, and yeah, he’s got a few good spits: "My black G-unit hoody just reek of marijuana/Cocaine comin’ out my pores in the sauna" is smart, if it’s his. But the man behind "In da Club" (from 50’s 2003 album Get Rich or Die Trying) knows crack rap doesn’t a radio hit make, which is why so much of The Massacre feels like 50 chasing his own clubcentric past. The disc’s first single, "Disco Inferno," is a poor man’s "In da Club," and the similarities between the new disc’s "Candy Shop" and his 2003 Lil’ Kim collaboration "Magic Stick" should have 50 blushing. Instead, he brags: "Look homie I don’t dance all I do is this/It’s the same two-step wit a lil’ twist."

However self-derivative those songs turned out, 50 should have stuck with the club. But unlike the Game, 50 is convinced he’s a "real" rapper. And there he falters, instead coming off as the lispy bully, the humorless thug, and, like his pal Eminem, the self-parodying has-been.

Don’t dis Game — or Nas, or Jadakiss, or Fat Joe — when you have lines like "What the fuck are you retarded/You touch Shady I’ll leave you dearly departed" on a track that’s called (no joke) "Gatman and Robbin." And don’t be saying "Man I’m tired of tellin’ niggas over and over everything about me be gangsta" if you then intend to spend the rest of the album telling everyone how gangsta you are. Even the possibly clever heroin song "A Baltimore Love Thing," which starts out strong ("After that first night, she fall in love, then chased a feelin’/I hung out with Marvin when he wrote ‘Sexual Healing’/Kurt Cobain even good friends, Ozzy Osbourne too/I be with rock stars, see you lucky I’m fuckin’ with you"), begins to bore by the chorus ("But you need me, can’t you see you’re addicted to me?").

As for the argument that 50’s for the ladies, well . . . machismo and domestic violence in a rap persona are always a touchy subject. Sure, plenty of party people will enjoy co-opting 50’s brutishness when he sings, "I tell the ho’s all the time/Bitch, get in my car," but I don’t know many who would even want to get over lines like "My game fuck with a bitch brain so she think she wifey/Spend her life savings in a day cause she likes me/Commitment from me/Nah, not likely" — shit’s not smart or even confrontational, just mean and retrograde.

The worst part: unlike The Documentary, The Massacre doesn’t have the beats to buoy 50’s hot air. Even with 15 different credits for production, too many songs ride that same Storch dark piano pop-off — too dark, way too serious. Then when tracks get sweet and Kanye at the end, 50’s thugger-than-thou balloon show from before makes it almost impossible for him to sound convincing on lines like "Put a message in my music hope it brightens your day" and "Every chance I get, I find time to spend with you."

And yet these two by-the-numbers thugs — one who admits it and looks brilliant, the other who resists and looks the fool — together have made the most tender Rap Is the Last American Dream songs since Biggie’s "Juicy." They know it too — "Hate It or Love It" appears on The Documentary as an album track and on The Massacre as an extended G-Unit remix. The soul beat clicks a few bpm below an acceptable dance pulse, so for once, the emphasis is on the lyrics. Everyone is on point, 50 especially: "Comin’ up I was confused my momma kissin’ a girl/Confusion occurs comin’ up in the cold world/Daddy ain’t around probably out committin’ felonies/My favorite rapper used to sing ch-check out my melody." Total "hard-ass gangsta goes soft and has a heart" shockah, but "Hate It or Love It" is a nice reminder why the rags-to-riches ghetto narrative — which these two jokers will continue to streamline, dull, and exploit — was a compelling genre in the first place.