Billed as P’s final solo album, this double-disc opus is so of a piece with the rest of his oeuvre you may think you’ve heard it before. And you have: the gut-punching G-funk, rude boasts, randy toasts, drug talk, gunshots, cornball social commentary, and putdowns of “playa haters.” But even if there’s nothing new here (except maybe P’s dead-on imitation of Al Pacino’s Scarface character), Don may be the best argument for this man’s genius yet; who else but P could squeeze almost two hours of music out of such clichéd beats and sentiments? Respect is due.