A more effective critique of hip-hop/materialism than anything by a white musician (whether Macklemore, Lilly Allen or even the parochial accidental critique of Lorde’s ‘Royals’), via a pervasive mood of utter abjection and sadness. The production (“cloudy trap stuff”, as described by @evilguii) leaves no doubt that the surface enjoyment is pure affectation, with a hollow ennui lurking beneath the fizzing, twerking surface.
Cloudy trap is a great description for it, as it evokes the ganja smoked rooms visually and culturally associated with a lot of contemporary hip-hop and rap. But there are two sides to getting high – the pleasurable loss of self, the experience that regular smokers seek, and the cloying, depressive downward spiral of a paranoia attack or green out. Cloudy trap often evokes the former, but the latter seems (at least to me) to frequently lurk beneath the surface.