Charming…

[Website]
[5.00]

Martin Skidmore: I don’t know when ‘becky’ became slang for a blow-job, but it could hardly be clearer that that is what he is on about. It has the leering misogyny you probably expect from that, and the reasonably dramatic production and his swaggering delivery don’t do enough to negate the relish with which he acts like an asshole.
[3]

Michaelangelo Matos: Is he really asking her to peg him?
[5]

Anthony Miccio: According to Harold & Kumar: Escape From Guantanamo Bay and urbandictionary.com, getting head while taking a shit is actually called a “blumpkin.” I don’t know if “Becky” is a regional derivative or just a mistake on Plies’ part.
[3]

Al Shipley: After racking up a half dozen hits by pairing his goonish taunts with the prettiest R&B hooks money can buy, Plies is finally feeling confident enough to release a single without Ne-Yo or T-Pain cooing sweet nothings in between verses. And he’s not half stepping either, going all the way with a brazen blowjob metaphor that will make every Becky in the world hate him more than the Jennies hated Tommy Tutone in ’82. This gets a couple extra points on balls alone.
[3]

John Seroff: Plies is probably the biggest non-crossover hip hop star of the moment. His lack of a high profile mainstream pop persona is surely less about aspiration or talent and more about his self-appointed role as rap’s most resolute pussyhound; American Top 40 tends to be more patient with avowed druglords and murderers than guys who want to fuck your daughter. As oral sex songs go, this one is several notches below Prince’s “Head”; Plies isn’t blazing any artistic (or, as you prefer, unartistic) ground long since uncovered by Uncle Luke. The simple handclap beats and bareknuckle bass synth do a reasonable job of supporting Plies’ eighth-beat-late, heavily accented flow, producing a dirty playground rhyme that is embarrassingly catchy, dumb as a box of rocks and cannily self-aware; Plies actually climaxes by asking a blowjob to marry him. Fair warning to him: I tried this once with pizza and it didn’t work out well.
[7]

Hillary Brown: While I now feel bad for all the Rebeccas I know, the dirty, grinding hook of the song can’t be denied. This is like the definition of guilty pleasure.
[7]

Mordechai Shinefield: The real life Becky must feel ripped off. If she had caught Paul Simon’s eye, this song would be about breaking hearts and shaking confidences. Instead her song is the apotheosis of perverse, sexually-loaded degradation. This assumes the eponymous Becky is still a person, and not simply a new way of referring to fellation (“Give me that Becky,” Plies says, some sly swagger in his register). I could feed a line about how the subject matter is parodic, but I’ll come clean and admit that “Becky” is beyond politically problematic. It’s misogynistic and lyrically vile. Too bad it’s such a fun listen.
[7]

Rodney J. Greene: An obscenity is only repellant so long as it has the power to shock and discomfit. The nature of such language is that, by repeat exposure, what was once offensive becomes mundane, losing whatever effect it may once have had. With this in mind, Plies is pop’s premier vulgarist. He understands that if you really want to disgust people, you’ve got to come fresh, with new and exciting dirty words that cross all sorts of uncomfortable lines. Where he only did this sparingly, but memorably, before, “Becky” takes his gift for the perverse to its logical extreme, with Plies lustily chanting his naughty neoligism throughout. Of course, this is exacerbated by his highly unpleasant voice, a mushmouthed yowl that would sound gross announcing the weather, but here is like he might well be drooling all over you. Fuckin’ guy.
[7]

Jordan Sargent: Just when I think that my life can go on indefinitely without hearing a new Plies single, someone like Drake comes along and reminds me of how nearly vital Plies’ frothing vulgarity is to balancing out the bended-knee swooning that is hip-hop and R&B radio in 2009. “Becky” isn’t as good as “Shawty” or “Bust It Baby, Pt. 2” (no T-Pain or Ne-Yo), nor is it as good as “Every Girl” (which barely survives Drake’s elementary mythologizing), but it is a worthy addition to Plies’ X-rated catalog, one full of catchphrase songs that you love to rap in the car by yourself but wouldn’t dare do in front of anyone else. And if I ever hear it mixed after “Run This Town” I’ll appreciate it as much for the levity as the irony.
[6]

Alex Ostroff: Edit: I just heard the un-edited version. Strangest edit ever, in that it’s just filthy enough that I didn’t realize it was edited. Without the hilarious shoe-horning of “Becky” as a slang term for head, the actual song is about four times as sleazy and even more tiresomely, needlessly filthy. The beat still saves it.
[5]

Alfred Soto: I’d have more patience for the title hook if it had actually been “bacon,” which, I swear, is what I thought he said the first time. The two-note synth hook isn’t enough to alleviate the novelty, or my appetite for something crispy and lethal.
[4]

Pete Baran: At least now I can complete my set of songs named after Roseanne’s children (Led Zeppelin’s “Darlene” and “Rock DJ” for the other two, if you have to ask).
[3]