Even the most brazen so-called gangster rapper wants us to believe in their ruthlessness as a concept, not a reality. Perhaps that’s why Memphis rapper Pooh Shiesty placed a disclaimer at the outset of his recent studio debut, All Eyes on Shiest. Shiesty is facing potential life imprisonment on kidnapping and armed robbery charges for allegedly strong-arming his 1017 Records boss, Gucci Mane, on camera—he was seeking a release from the very label that dropped this album. As humorous as some may find the disclaimer, it could very well be a court exhibit during pretrial motions. When he was charged for the robbery, he had been home for just six months after serving more than three years on a previous firearms conspiracy conviction.

Pooh Shiesty deserves his artistic license. But even with him censoring certain names, it’s impossible to hear these 16 tracks without contemplating which of his steely missives could end up in a courtroom. And you wonder if the self-described “killionaire” cares: Outside the disclaimer, his raps (and multiple monologues) feel intent on averring his embodiment of the street code and jail codes. The body of work amounts to a Gangster’s Digest that, depending on how much one knows about the nature of patriarchy and systemic oppression, is either thrilling or depressing.

Shiesty, like fellow Memphians Key Glock and Moneybagg Yo, knows his sound, his audience, and their expectations. There are no stunt samples or “label made me do it” pop collaborations here. All Eyes on Shiest is grim scripture from the streets of Memphis, scribed by a wayward native son. The most romantic bar on the album is, “Bae, I love you like my Micro Drac’.” Even on the would-be strip club anthem “Booty Club,” with Sexyy Red, it only takes four bars for him to shift from ogling a Rubi Rose lookalike to threatening to shoot up the club. And the warning isn’t even about defending her honor; it’s a reflexive reminder that he’ll pull the trigger.

Atop a front-to-back collection of pensive pianos and bulbous 808s, his calm, matter-of-fact vocals feel like a chilling resignation to nihilism. His production choices excel when another instrument overshadows the keys, such as the flute on “Trip” or synths on “CMO Freestyle.” Shiesty imbues the classic Memphis sound with a stolidness, but also has some darkly funny barbs: On “I’m Back,” he raps, “Once that that hot shit runnin’ through ’em they get to screamin’ like Ric Flair,” while on “Federal Reality,” he laments, “Came home, niggas still broke, I wasn’t even missin’ shit.” It’s “funny while being dead serious” humor, but you’d nevertheless like more of those moments.

The latter track, a reference to Lil Durk’s “Federal Nightmares,” is one of the few moments Shiesty drops the veneer to reflect on mastering patience in jail, unsupportive friends, and dodging a RICO plot. But the second half of the song pivots back to standard smash-the-opps fare. Toward the end of his stream of consciousness on “Reckless Living,” he pauses rapping to plainly state how losing a friend “crushed his soul.” His grief is so immense that it bursts through the verse, revealing a sliver of humanity amid the violence.

All Eyes on Shiest is heavy on the who (him vs. the opps) and what (endless conquest), but spare on why all this violence is happening and how he feels about it. He’s a solid writer who shows flashes of poignance, but the imbalance makes for a tedious listen. By the time he ends “Trip” with an extended monologue about being so certified in prison that he ate what the police were served, it’s like, We get it. In totality, the project makes me wonder what street authenticity is worth; it’s a bleak trade-off for the artist and consumer. This is one of the “realest” rap albums that’s ever been released, but Pooh may have thrown his life away to earn that distinction. What are the stakes of passively engaging all this as entertainment?

All Eyes on Shiest is a reference to Tupac’s 1995 classic, All Eyez on Me. The iconic rapper’s murder trial began last week. There’s an interview clip from the early ’90s where he talks about learning from the gangster rappers who gave him “big nuts” in place of a father figure. A record like Pooh Shiesty’s fits right in line with what Tupac was getting at. But the street code is worth reappraising when it led Tupac to a tragic end and Shiesty to another trial for his life.