Let’s be honest with ourselves. No one expected a lyrical
masterpiece from the young Miami group. With their last album, the crew managed
to go platinum via catchy, radio-friendly jams. After the success, the group
joined the Scream Tour, and their
adoring fans rejoiced (read: the 13-year-old girls rejoiced). Now, Pretty Ricky set their sights on a
second round of said success with Late
Night Special. As we said, it’s no lyrical masterpiece. But, why lie? It’s
also not even close to being good.
Sadly,
the songs range from corny to cornier. Each track, filled with dirty,
unintentionally funny lines, manages to grow more annoying and more absurd than
the previous song. Take their lead single, “On the Hotline,” as an example of
this. With immature (and downright nasty) lyrics, it sure does give a nice
glimpse of what’s to come.
“I’m horny. I’m lonely. I’m touching and
rubbing.”
Rhyming
about masturbation and meeting females on MySpace
is bad enough, but it gets worse. In an attempt to sound sensual, the crew
equates a woman’s love to honey, “sticky and slow” and use other odd food
references when seducing a woman on the aptly titled “So Confused. “
“Sip Kool Aid from your navel,/Grip that
thang like Play Doh/Butter that thang like a baked potato.”
Things
get cheesier when the crew stoops to using tired lines like “We started out friend/Chillin’ like a
villain.” That’s nothing compared to the hilarity of the soft spoken sounds
of this little romantic ditty.
“I even got your name tattooed backwards on
my chest…/So that only my heart could read it. I love you.“- “Stay”
That
comes right after asking a girl to let them “do you like after-school homework.” (Question: When has anyone
received during-school homework? All homework is done after school.)
Nonetheless, the awkward freakiness continues.
“I’ll be yo’ teacha, yo’ platinum Visa/I’ll
be yo’ pimp, you be my skeeza.“- “Peer Pressure”
Following
that up is rough, but the boys manage to top this by flossing.
“Pullin’ up fresh, 4 do’ Caddy/I’m Chuck E.
Cheese/Holdin’ tokens like Step Daddy…/Call me Flintstones ’cause I keep the
bed rockin’.“
As
we’ve witnessed, the hypothesis was correct. It’s nothing close to nice in the
lyrical department and that takes away from the redundant sounds of their Music Royale Production Team. However,
it should be noted that the constant sexual/baller talk is cut short as the
album is only 11 tracks long. Aside from this positive note, it’s safe to say
that the only thing Special about
this album is how truly terrible it is. Just like a classic album will make
your jaw drop, this album will do the same, just likely followed by a disgusted
shake of your head. This isn’t just bad Hip Hop – it’s bad Hip Pop, it’s bad
bubblegum rap. It’s just…bad.
