"God gave me style," boasts 50 Cent. He'll get no argument here. Or anywhere else, probably.

After all, back in 2003 it was Fitty's undeniable style -- from his laid-back stance, uneven flow and mack-daddy swagger to his Kevlar-vest street-cred -- that turned this former crack dealer named Curtis Jackson into rap's newest ubiquitous phenom. So nobody should be surprised that his long-overdue follow (at least in the short-attention-span rap world) is another triumph of style -- even if it sometimes comes at the expense of substance.

Picking up pretty much where he left off on his debut Get Rich or Die Tryin', 50 spends most of these 78 minutes spinning the same bullet-riddled tales of drugs and gats and homeys and soldiers and rolling and smoking and locking and loading and yadda yadda yadda. Sure, now and again he pauses to count his money or knock boots with a hollywood starlet in the back of his whip -- "I'm falling in love with success," he admits, like we couldn't tell. But for the most part, he's the same ole foul-mouthed, trash-talking Fitty.

Despite all this predictability, though, Massacre is sure to dominate the charts and the radio and the Grammys and the iPods and car stereos and bedroom CD players of wiggas the world over. Why? Style, baby. Even when he's talking about how he's got your momma hogtied in the next room, 50's got more animal magnetism than P. Diddy could ever buy. Even better, he's still got Eminem and Dr. Dre along for the ride, producing and mixing these tracks with their trademark blend of low-rolling grooves and stark menace.

Bottom line: It's doubtful Massacre's familiarity will breed contempt among Fitty fans, though it could keep it from having the same cultural impact as its predecessor.

After all, style can only get you so far.