The Kanye we know and love is back. I personally wasn't the biggest fan of Yeezus. I dug the forward thinking on that joint and what not, but I still only rock with about five or six songs three years later. Needless to say, I've been looking forward to his upcoming album for quite some time. So when he dropped "Real Friends" a few weeks back with the snippet to the Madlib-produced, Kendrick Lamar-featuring "No More Parties in L.A.," I knelt before God and asked for forgiveness. Finally, the old 'Ye is back. However, with it's so-so warm-up singles, name changes, botched SoundCloud uploads, sporadic Good Fridays, and Twitter beef, many feel like Kanye's seventh studio album is headed for disaster.

I'm not concerned with that, though, because "Fade" sounds like it's going to be fire, and this track has Yeezy and Kendrick going back and forth over a Madlib beat. This is the rap gods smiling down on us, my friends. Our pick for Best Rap Verse of the Month goes to Kanye's last stanza on "No More Parties in L.A."

"Friday night tryna make it into the city

Breakneck speeds, passenger seat suttin' pretty

Thinking back to how I got here in the first place

Second class bitches wouldn't let me on first base

A backpack nigga with luxury taste buds

And the Louis Vuitton store, got all of my pay stubs

Got pussy from beats I did for niggas more famous

When did I become A list? I wasn't even on a list

Strippers get invited to where they only get hired

When I get on my Steve Jobs, somebody gon' get fired

I was uninspired since Lauryn Hill retired

And 3 Stacks, man, you preach it to the choir

Any rumor you ever heard about me was true and legendary

I done got Lewinsky'd and paid secretaries

For all my niggas with babies by bitches

That use they kids as meal tickets

Not knowing that disconnect from the father

The next generation will be the real victims

I can't fault 'em really

I remember Amber told my boy no matter what happens she ain't going back to Philly

Back to our regularly scheduled programmin'

Of weak content and slow jammin'

But don't worry, this one's so jammin'

You know it, L.A., it's so jammin'

I be thinkin' every day Mulholland Drive, need to put up some god damn barricades

I be paranoid every time

The pressure, the problem ain't I be drivin', the problem is I be textin'

My psychiatrist got kids that I inspired

First song they played for me was 'bout their friend that just died

Textin' and drivin' down Mulholland Drive, that's why I'd rather take the 405

I be worried 'bout my daughter, I be worried 'bout Kim

But Saint is baby 'Ye, I ain't worried 'bout him

I had my life threatened by best friends with selfish intents

What I'm supposed to do, ride around with a bulletproof car and some tints?

Every agent I know, know I hate agents

I'm too black, I'm too vocal, I'm too flagrant

Something smellin' like shit, that's the new fragrance

It's just me, I do it my way, bitch

Some days I'm in my Yeezys, some days I'm in my Vans

If I knew y'all made plans I wouldn't have popped the Xans

I know some fans who thought I wouldn't rap like this again

But the writer's block is over, MCs cancel your plans

A 38-year-old 8-year-old with rich nigga problems

Tell my wife that I hate the Rolls so I don't never drive it

It took six months to get the Maybach all matted out

And my assistant crashed it soon as they backed it out

Goddamn, got a bald fade, I might slam

Pink fur, got Nori dressing like Cam, thank God for me

Whole family gettin' money, thank God for E!

I love rockin' jewelry, a whole neck full

Bitches say he funny and disrespectful

I feel like Pablo when I'm workin' on my shoes

I feel like Pablo when I see me on the news

I feel like Pablo when I'm workin' on my house

Tell 'em party's in here, we don't need to go out

We need the turbo thots, high speed, turbo thots

Drop-dro-dro-dro-drop it like Robocop

She brace herself and hold my stomach, good dick'll do that

She keep pushin' me back, good dick'll do that

She push me back when the dick go too deep

This good dick'll put your ass to sleep

Get money, money, money, money

Big, big money, money, money, money

And as far as real friends, tell all my cousins I love 'em

Even the one that stole the laptop, you dirty motherfucker" —Kanye West

This is College Dropout/Late Registration Kanye. This is honest, boastful, and funny raps over sample flips. This is the 'Ye we've grown to love.

"A 38-year-old 8-year-old with rich nigga problems

Tell my wife that I hate the Rolls so I don't never drive it

It took six months to get the Maybach all matted out

And my assistant crashed it soon as they backed it out

Goddamn, got a bald fade, I might slam

Pink fur, got Nori dressing like Cam, thank God for me

Whole family gettin' money, thank God for E!"

Also, it turns out the Maybach line was true: