It started with a snippet. Just a few seconds of a beat that sounded like a heavy-duty industrial engine revving up in a dark alley. When Drake and J. Cole finally dropped First Person Shooter as part of the For All The Dogs rollout in late 2023, the hip-hop world didn't just listen. It reacted. Loudly.
You’ve probably seen the memes. The Spider-Man pointing meme recreated by two of the biggest titans in music. But beneath the surface-level hype of two GOATs finally linking up for a massive track, there was a simmering tension that most people totally missed at first. This wasn't just a song. It was a catalyst.
Why First Person Shooter Was a Turning Point
Look, we have to talk about the "Big Three." For a decade, the consensus was Drake, Kendrick Lamar, and J. Cole. They were the holy trinity of the post-Lil Wayne era. First Person Shooter was meant to be a victory lap for that era. Cole even says it directly, rapping about how he's the one "feeling like Muhammad Ali" and mentioning the Big Three by name.
But he also said he’s the "one" of that three.
That little spark? It turned into a forest fire. While the song itself is a masterclass in flow switches—especially that jarring, brilliant transition halfway through where the beat shifts from a soulful bounce to a sinister, bass-heavy anthem—the lyrical content acted as a formal invitation for conflict. Cole was being brotherly. Kendrick, as we later found out on "Like That," took it as a slight.
The song actually earned Drake his 13th number-one hit on the Billboard Hot 100. That’s a big deal. It tied him with Michael Jackson for the most number-one singles by a male solo artist. Drake being Drake, he celebrated with a custom glove and a lot of Instagram flexing. But while the charts were celebrating a milestone, the culture was preparing for a war.
The Anatomy of the Beat Switch
BoI-1da, Vinylz, Tay Keith, FnZ, Oz, and Coleman. That is a lot of cooks in the kitchen for one track. Usually, that many producers results in a cluttered mess. Not here. The first half of the song belongs to Cole’s world. It’s airy. It’s confident. It feels like a high-speed chase through North Carolina backroads.
Then it happens.
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The "shooter" sounds kick in. The tempo shifts. The energy gets darker. This is where Drake thrives. He steps in with a cadence that is deliberate and heavy. Honestly, the contrast is what makes it work. If it had been the same beat for five minutes, we’d have forgotten it in a week. Instead, the production mirrors the competitive nature of the lyrics. They aren't just rapping together; they are trying to out-rap each other.
The Controversy You Might Have Forgotten
Remember the music video? Directed by Gibson Hazard, it was a technical marvel. It featured that incredible shot of them playing chess, a direct nod to the iconic Louis Vuitton ad featuring Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. It signaled that these two were the undisputed kings of the pitch.
But there was a weird subplot involving the "Big Three" line.
Cole called himself the "bronze medalist" but then immediately claimed he was the greatest. It was a weirdly humble-yet-arrogant bar. Kendrick Lamar didn't like being lumped into a "Big Three" at all. To him, First Person Shooter was an attempt to domesticate his competitive streak. He didn't want a seat at a table of three. He wanted the whole table.
This song is essentially the "Ground Zero" for the 2024 rap wars. Without the massive success and the "Big Three" mentions in this track, "Like That" probably doesn't happen. The "Push Ups" response doesn't happen. The "Not Like Us" cultural moment doesn't happen.
Breaking Down the Chart Success
Let's get into the weeds for a second. 13 number ones.
Think about that.
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Drake reached this peak in a significantly shorter timeframe than MJ. However, the "MJ vs. Drake" debate sparked a whole different wing of the internet. Critics argued that the streaming era makes it "easier" to hit number one because of how Billboard tallies plays versus actual physical sales. On the flip side, Drake’s fans argue that the sheer volume of competition today makes his dominance even more impressive.
Regardless of where you stand on the "streaming vs. sales" debate, the numbers don't lie. First Person Shooter debuted at the top. It wasn't a "grower." It was an instant smash. It proved that despite the "Drake fatigue" some critics talk about, the general public is still hungry for high-level lyrical collaborations.
The J. Cole Factor
Kinda funny how history played out, right? Cole eventually apologized for his "7 Minute Drill" response to Kendrick and backed out of the beef. This makes his verse on First Person Shooter feel like a relic from a different timeline. In this song, he's the ultimate competitor. He's asking "Who's the GOAT?" and pointing at himself.
His verse is technically superior to Drake’s in the eyes of many purists. The way he handles internal rhymes and multisyllabic schemes is honestly staggering. He raps like he has something to prove, whereas Drake raps like he’s already proven everything and is just checking the score.
Technical Details and Hidden Gems
If you listen closely to the outro, there’s a lot of atmospheric noise that sounds like a busy arena. It’s meant to evoke the feeling of a gladiator entering the Colosseum.
- Key: C# Minor
- BPM: 164 (roughly)
- Duration: 4:07
The song’s title is a double entendre. It’s a reference to the video game genre (FPS), but also a metaphor for how they view their "bars" as projectiles. They aren't just rappers; they are marksmen. The precision required to land these flows over such complex production is high.
Most people don't realize that the song was recorded in various locations across the world, stitched together through digital collaboration before the final mix down in Toronto. This is the modern way of making "event" records. You don't need to be in the same room to create chemistry, though it helps.
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What This Means for the Future of Rap
We’re in a weird spot now. The fallout from this song basically dismantled the "Big Three" alliance. Cole went back to his forest. Kendrick claimed the crown. Drake went into defensive mode.
But First Person Shooter remains a high-water mark for "Feature Drake." When he is challenged by someone of Cole’s caliber, he stops the "melodic singing" and gets back to the "5 AM in Toronto" style of rapping. That’s the Drake the fans actually want.
The song serves as a reminder that competition is the lifeblood of the genre. Without the friction created by this track, the industry would have stayed stagnant and "nice." It forced everyone to pick a side. It forced the artists to sharpen their pens.
Actionable Takeaways for the Listener
If you’re trying to really understand the 2020s rap landscape, you can’t skip this. Here is how to actually digest the impact of this record:
Listen for the Transition Point Pay attention to the 2:10 mark. The shift isn't just a beat change; it's a change in perspective. Cole represents the lyrical "golden era" sensibilities, while Drake represents the modern "superstar" era. The bridge between them is where the magic happens.
Watch the Video for Subtext Don't just watch it for the visuals. Look at the framing. Notice how they rarely share the frame in a static way; they are always moving, always competing for the viewer's attention. It’s a visual representation of the song's core theme: there can only be one at the top.
Analyze the MJ Connection Look up the "Michael Jackson" bars. Drake isn't just bragging; he’s obsessed with the legacy. Understanding Drake’s obsession with MJ's records helps explain why he pushes for these massive, chart-dominating collaborations instead of smaller, underground projects.
Compare the Flows Try to count the different flow patterns Cole uses in the first two minutes. Then, compare that to Drake’s rhythmic "stutter" flow in the second half. It’s a masterclass in how to keep a long song from feeling repetitive.
The legacy of this track isn't just a trophy on a shelf or a plaque on a wall. It's the moment the cold war in hip-hop turned hot. It’s a piece of history that shows exactly what happens when you tell the world you’re the best—and the world decides to test you on it.