Least black owned gas station in Houston
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99.99% chance it was a troon 0.01% chance it was actually the decrepit old man that the police arrested for a little while after the shooting
Here’s a pretty thorough rundown of Chief Keef’s discography — studio albums, mixtapes, EPs, compilation albums, and major singles. If you want, I can also list all songs / features by year.
Chief Keef Discography
Data updated as of recently (2025-ish)
Studio Albums
Mixtapes
There are many mixtapes; here are some of the key / early ones and recurring series.
EPs (Extended Plays)
He has released a few EPs. Some of them:
Compilation Albums
There are compilation-type releases as well. The details are less often discussed but they are counted in official discographies.
Singles (As Lead & Featured Artist)
Here are some of his biggest singles as lead artist:
And as a featured artist, quite a few tracks too.
If you want, I can pull up a complete chronological list by year (mixtapes + albums + singles) to see how his output evolved over time. Do you want me to make that?
Chief Keef Discography
Data updated as of recently (2025-ish)
Studio Albums
| Album | Release Date |
| Finally Rich | December 18, 2012 |
| Bang 3 | August 1, 2015 |
| Dedication | December 1, 2017 |
| 4NEM | 2019 |
| Almighty So 2 | 2024 |
Mixtapes
There are many mixtapes; here are some of the key / early ones and recurring series.
- U.F. Overload (2009)
- Mulah Express (2010)
- The Glory Road (2011)
- Bang (2011)
- Back from the Dead (2012)
- For Greater Glory Vol. 1, 2, 2.5, etc. (2012)
- Bang, Pt. 2 (2013)
- Almighty So (2013)
- Big Gucci Sosa (with Gucci Mane) (2014)
- Back from the Dead 2 (2014)
- Sorry 4 the Weight (2015)
- The Leek series (Vol. 1 → many)
- Two Zero One Seven (2017)
- Thot Breaker (2017)
- The Leek Vols. continuing into later years
- Back from the Dead 3 (2018)
- Mansion Musick (2018)
EPs (Extended Plays)
He has released a few EPs. Some of them:
- Trap Symphony — Nov 7, 2018
- Extra GLO — May 15, 2020
Compilation Albums
There are compilation-type releases as well. The details are less often discussed but they are counted in official discographies.
Singles (As Lead & Featured Artist)
Here are some of his biggest singles as lead artist:
- “I Don’t Like” (2012)
- “Love Sosa” (2012)
- “Hate Bein’ Sober” (feat. 50 Cent & Wiz Khalifa)
- (Many more smaller singles / non-album ones)
And as a featured artist, quite a few tracks too.
If you want, I can pull up a complete chronological list by year (mixtapes + albums + singles) to see how his output evolved over time. Do you want me to make that?
I mean, obviously I thought he was a complete idiot and all that, but he certainly didn’t deserve to be executed like that.
Honestly it’s probably just some setup to distract the public from those damn Epstein files, just like how they were talking about aliens again.
Leftists are retarded as hell for praising his death. He wasn’t some ceo or influential politician it was just some random ass dude who debated equally retarded college kids to feel better about himself. The hell do they think shooting him is gonna do?
The world is fucked honestly. It’s honestly time for the sun to just explode
Also, I hate to say it but
Just kidding
Nothing happens
Honestly it’s probably just some setup to distract the public from those damn Epstein files, just like how they were talking about aliens again.
Leftists are retarded as hell for praising his death. He wasn’t some ceo or influential politician it was just some random ass dude who debated equally retarded college kids to feel better about himself. The hell do they think shooting him is gonna do?
The world is fucked honestly. It’s honestly time for the sun to just explode
Also, I hate to say it but
Just kidding
Nothing happens
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Now i know how it looks like being shot to neck
anyways i dont really care, i didnt know who he was till today
Got it—you want it as one long flowing block, no breaks, like a dense academic essay wall. Here’s the clumped version:
The emergence of Chief Keef in the early 2010s marks not merely a shift in the sonic architecture of hip-hop, but a seismic transformation in the very modalities of rhetoric in contemporary culture. When Keith Cozart—barely a teenager, under house arrest, recording in his grandmother’s living room—released I Don’t Like and Love Sosa, he was not simply making songs. He was participating in an act of rhetorical reconstitution: the articulation of a subaltern consciousness through the tools afforded by the digital polis. To understand Chief Keef as a rhetorician requires abandoning the narrow frameworks of polished oratory and written argument, and instead recognizing the power of repetition, affect, and authenticity as modes of persuasion. Chief Keef’s rhetoric operates most forcefully through pathos, though not in the sentimental mode one might expect from classical appeals to emotion. His affect is paradoxical: monotone yet fervent, detached yet violent. In tracks such as Love Sosa, the chorus is less a melodic refrain than a chant, a liturgical utterance whose rhetorical potency lies in its hypnotic insistence. The repetition of phrases—“That’s that stuff I don’t like”—is not a failure of linguistic imagination but an assertion of rhetorical emphasis. In Keef’s music, affect becomes atmosphere; emotion is transmitted not through narrative complexity but through rhythmic density, bass, and the performative weight of his voice. What scholars of rhetoric might identify as ethos in Keef’s music is, in fact, radical authenticity. Keef’s authority derives not from institutional legitimacy, but from the very conditions of his life in Englewood, Chicago. His music refuses mediation; it is unpolished, at times barely mixed, and this rawness functions rhetorically as proof of lived truth. In a cultural industry dominated by manufactured personas, Keef’s unfiltered presence became his ethos. Listeners are not persuaded because Keef argues his credibility, but because his very existence as a teenage figure narrating violence, poverty, and alienation serves as credibility itself. His ethos is not constructed; it is embodied. Keef’s work also deploys a kind of logos, though not in the discursive sense of reasoned argumentation. Rather, he offers a logic of survival. His lyrics are structured around stark binaries—friend and enemy, loyalty and betrayal, wealth and deprivation. While these oppositions may appear reductive to critics, they are, in fact, a crystallized representation of the social logic of marginalized communities where survival depends upon such distinctions. In this sense, Keef’s rhetoric participates in what Michel de Certeau might describe as a tactical discourse: a speech act grounded in necessity rather than abstraction, in the immediacy of lived experience rather than theoretical speculation. Perhaps the most profound dimension of Keef’s rhetoric lies in its delivery, which situates him at the intersection of oral tradition and digital media. Like the griots of West Africa or the blues shouters of the American South, Keef’s rhetorical force emerges through performance rather than text. Yet unlike his predecessors, Keef’s polis is not the physical street corner or the juke joint, but YouTube and WorldStarHipHop. His rise signals the collapse of traditional rhetorical gatekeeping: he did not need labels, radio play, or journalistic endorsement. His rhetoric spread virally, a peer-to-peer transmission that redefined how voices from the margins enter cultural consciousness. In this sense, Chief Keef embodies a new rhetorical paradigm in which authenticity, affect, and algorithm combine to reconfigure the public sphere. Chief Keef’s significance, then, cannot be reduced to debates over his lyrical content or his role in popularizing drill music. To do so would be to misunderstand the rhetorical revolution he represents. Keef demonstrates that rhetoric in the twenty-first century is not confined to speeches, essays, or even lyrics in their textual sense. It is embodied in the very grain of the voice, in the visceral experience of bass rattling through cheap speakers, in the viral loop of a hook replayed millions of times online. Chief Keef teaches us that rhetoric, at its core, is not always about persuasion through reasoned argument—it is about the power to make one’s voice heard, to shift the horizon of what counts as speech, and to inscribe marginalized experiences into the fabric of cultural discourse. In the end, Chief Keef is less a rapper than a rhetorician of the digital age. His music is not simply sound, but argument; not simply entertainment, but testimony. Through ethos of authenticity, pathos of affect, and logos of survival, Keef carved space for a generation whose realities had long been silenced. Whether one deems his art destructive or visionary is beside the point. What matters is that Chief Keef reminds us—sometimes the most powerful rhetoric is not spoken in polished prose, but shouted, mumbled, or even auto-tuned, reverberating from the margins until it becomes the center.
Do you want me to take this a step further and lace in a couple of actual academic references (like Aristotle’s Rhetoric or Stuart Hall on representation) so it could pass as a real Ivy League paper?
The emergence of Chief Keef in the early 2010s marks not merely a shift in the sonic architecture of hip-hop, but a seismic transformation in the very modalities of rhetoric in contemporary culture. When Keith Cozart—barely a teenager, under house arrest, recording in his grandmother’s living room—released I Don’t Like and Love Sosa, he was not simply making songs. He was participating in an act of rhetorical reconstitution: the articulation of a subaltern consciousness through the tools afforded by the digital polis. To understand Chief Keef as a rhetorician requires abandoning the narrow frameworks of polished oratory and written argument, and instead recognizing the power of repetition, affect, and authenticity as modes of persuasion. Chief Keef’s rhetoric operates most forcefully through pathos, though not in the sentimental mode one might expect from classical appeals to emotion. His affect is paradoxical: monotone yet fervent, detached yet violent. In tracks such as Love Sosa, the chorus is less a melodic refrain than a chant, a liturgical utterance whose rhetorical potency lies in its hypnotic insistence. The repetition of phrases—“That’s that stuff I don’t like”—is not a failure of linguistic imagination but an assertion of rhetorical emphasis. In Keef’s music, affect becomes atmosphere; emotion is transmitted not through narrative complexity but through rhythmic density, bass, and the performative weight of his voice. What scholars of rhetoric might identify as ethos in Keef’s music is, in fact, radical authenticity. Keef’s authority derives not from institutional legitimacy, but from the very conditions of his life in Englewood, Chicago. His music refuses mediation; it is unpolished, at times barely mixed, and this rawness functions rhetorically as proof of lived truth. In a cultural industry dominated by manufactured personas, Keef’s unfiltered presence became his ethos. Listeners are not persuaded because Keef argues his credibility, but because his very existence as a teenage figure narrating violence, poverty, and alienation serves as credibility itself. His ethos is not constructed; it is embodied. Keef’s work also deploys a kind of logos, though not in the discursive sense of reasoned argumentation. Rather, he offers a logic of survival. His lyrics are structured around stark binaries—friend and enemy, loyalty and betrayal, wealth and deprivation. While these oppositions may appear reductive to critics, they are, in fact, a crystallized representation of the social logic of marginalized communities where survival depends upon such distinctions. In this sense, Keef’s rhetoric participates in what Michel de Certeau might describe as a tactical discourse: a speech act grounded in necessity rather than abstraction, in the immediacy of lived experience rather than theoretical speculation. Perhaps the most profound dimension of Keef’s rhetoric lies in its delivery, which situates him at the intersection of oral tradition and digital media. Like the griots of West Africa or the blues shouters of the American South, Keef’s rhetorical force emerges through performance rather than text. Yet unlike his predecessors, Keef’s polis is not the physical street corner or the juke joint, but YouTube and WorldStarHipHop. His rise signals the collapse of traditional rhetorical gatekeeping: he did not need labels, radio play, or journalistic endorsement. His rhetoric spread virally, a peer-to-peer transmission that redefined how voices from the margins enter cultural consciousness. In this sense, Chief Keef embodies a new rhetorical paradigm in which authenticity, affect, and algorithm combine to reconfigure the public sphere. Chief Keef’s significance, then, cannot be reduced to debates over his lyrical content or his role in popularizing drill music. To do so would be to misunderstand the rhetorical revolution he represents. Keef demonstrates that rhetoric in the twenty-first century is not confined to speeches, essays, or even lyrics in their textual sense. It is embodied in the very grain of the voice, in the visceral experience of bass rattling through cheap speakers, in the viral loop of a hook replayed millions of times online. Chief Keef teaches us that rhetoric, at its core, is not always about persuasion through reasoned argument—it is about the power to make one’s voice heard, to shift the horizon of what counts as speech, and to inscribe marginalized experiences into the fabric of cultural discourse. In the end, Chief Keef is less a rapper than a rhetorician of the digital age. His music is not simply sound, but argument; not simply entertainment, but testimony. Through ethos of authenticity, pathos of affect, and logos of survival, Keef carved space for a generation whose realities had long been silenced. Whether one deems his art destructive or visionary is beside the point. What matters is that Chief Keef reminds us—sometimes the most powerful rhetoric is not spoken in polished prose, but shouted, mumbled, or even auto-tuned, reverberating from the margins until it becomes the center.
Do you want me to take this a step further and lace in a couple of actual academic references (like Aristotle’s Rhetoric or Stuart Hall on representation) so it could pass as a real Ivy League paper?
It’s all gonna pass within a few days
People are too stupid or simply don’t care enough to remember these things
U
He got mogged
Chee f queef
Niggas never had queef pussy tbh
Farting pussy sounds
kirkpill spreading faster than chad's syphilis
kirk thread 
Fuck that kike
Regardless of who killed him (we all know it was Jews) I'm sure Thomas Chittum author of Civil War II will mark this down as yet another significant event that inches America ever closer to Civil War 2 ie Ruby Ridge, the LA Riots, the Chaz and BLM riots and similar happenings were others etc.
Mogged by 5.56x45 NATO round
Began for kirkcels
- There’s a separate Japanese indie game creator branded “WeaselBomber” on sites like Freem—different scene, different language; no evidence it’s the same person as the Incels.is user.
weaselbomber” is a very active Incels.is forum user—a regular who posts a ton, mostly in casual/off-topic threads, changes avatars a lot, and is well-known enough that other users even meme about him.
- Account basics. Screens on the site show Joined: Dec 11, 2022 and Posts: ~21k–22k+ by mid-2025 (i.e., posts a lot).
- . Shows up in Lounge/Off-topic and site-meta type threads; replies with brief takes, music/video drops, etc.
Israel's strongest propaganda cuck. Good riddance to him and his weird fucking gums too, may they rot in hell!
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Thread just got cheif kanses city keef
How's this crap got 50 replies?
Kirkland products
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