It’s like they never heard of the Tiny Tim/Johnny Horton fiasco…

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[3.50]

Alfred Soto: As subtle as a toilet flush. With a chorus this insistent these two fools almost get away with the ambiguity they think they’re peddling. Despite mentioning the nephews and nieces in the ghetto sellin’ pieces and mommas with tracks in their arms Starbuck’s gotta rid of the dough they think they’re going to earn. Somebody wake them up.
[5]

Jonathan Bradley: Hard-headed and unflashy; Starlito and Young Buck approach the hustle like a paper pusher sipping a Venti Americano in the office elevator at 8.55 a.m. The beat is industrial — both in its clangor and its repetitiousness — and both men rap in grim and grainy tones. It’s hard work well done though, and Buck’s verse in particular is demonstration of how he can be engaging while still being thoroughly austere. Sometimes numbing and pounding are laudable attributes.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: I guess someone has to make the generic placeholder rap that teenagers in TV shows listen to because the production budget won’t run to licensing actually popular hip-hop.
[4]

Brad Shoup: Grim, plodding, unfunny. I wouldn’t have pegged Yayo as the G with staying power.
[2]

Anthony Easton: This pains me to say, but Kathleen Hanna might have been wrong. As much as I believe in the radical possibilities of pleasure, babe, I think that the world is constructed in such a way that pleasure is no longer radical, especially pleasure so intimately connected with the problems of capital.
[2]

Iain Mew: Loud, invasive and un-fun, but not shocking. If this is a wake-up it’s the one that you get from forgetting to change your alarm clock on your day off.
[2]