“It’s your old pal Fillmore, comin’ in to fill more bank/Everybody wants to know the Fillmore’s rank”
From the opening lines of “Fillin’ Myself,” you can tell that Enter The Mill is a much more interesting beast than Millard Fillmore’s debut Millin’ Around Town. Millin’ Around Town was full of club anthems, with the most notable being “Fillin’ Like A Millard-naire,” but, overall, it was utterly forgettable. Fillmore was just one more dead president-turned-rapper, and aside from featuring on Flo Rida’s hit from last summer “Oooh (She’s Too Hot),” many people forgot about Fillmore, a point that he addresses in “I Did Not Come Back From The Dead For This,” the third track on Enter The Mill.
“So you forgot about Fillmore? What you thinkin’?/Now it’s Fillmore’s pockets that are lined with Lincoln.”
The David Guetta-produced beats of Millin’ have been replaced by Fillmore’s own, and while they’re often messier and slighter than Guetta’s, there is a certain rawness and pain that comes across in Enter The Mill. Fillmore was recently in the news due to losing one of his decomposed arms in a Miami club, and he references this incident, and even jokes about it, in the track “Where Did I Go?”
“One thing to prove that I’m the best of us/I’m shakin’ hands even after I’ve left the club…”
The high point of the album comes with the Macklemore diss track “We Haven’t Been Properly Introduced.” Back in 2019, a line in Macklemore’s summer hit “High School Dance” seemed to call out Fillmore:
“Who says that we need to fill more rap with that?/If I get filled more, I won’t dance to that!”
Fillmore’s track, which samples The Moody Blues’ “Knights in White Satin,” is a vicious throwback to the early days of dead presidents-turned-rappers.
“I know a certain boy who wishes that he Matteredmore/Ridin’ on the back of rap has got him saddle sore/So he rags on a once dead president/I’m about to kick some ass in the present tense”
Fillmore doesn’t reinvent the rap genre with Enter The Mill, but he does reinvent the dead president-turned-rapper subgenre, which needed a massive shot in the arm after Woodrow Wilson’s overly-hyped disaster Blabbermouth.