Jimmy Ness has a duck in his Caprice.
Flocka can get a club ratchet faster than a Ferrari can go zero to 60. Hence, this bangs so hard that even snarky elitists would strip their cardigans off and smash Roland Barthes books on the heads of their rivals. Flocka shout-raps to the roosters, the chickenheads who sit in his Ferrari and try to count the Flockaveli fortune. His opening acapella sets things off: “Pay for what girl? You better pay for this dick!” Fozzie Bear is too busy for gold diggers when there’s stacks to throw, other groupies to sample and Xannies to swallow.
You can guess what this sounds like: booming trap beats and yell-along lyrics. That’s not a bad thing. No one wants to hear political Flocka raps unless they’re about getting crunk with Obama and breaking windows in the White House.
“Rooster in my ‘Rari” doesn’t push musical boundaries, but it’s a nice amphetamines and lean-fuelled fiesta from technical wordplay and aggressive social commentary. Especially if you’ve been bumping Killer Mike and EL-P’s albums this month like the rest of us. Flocka’s music is riotously fun and should you ignore the Trey Songz collaborations, Triple F Life could be the soundtrack for summer rioting and two day hangovers. Waka still does gutter shit better than any of the Chicago High-School junior varsity Brick Squad.
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