“Rooster In My Rari,” a song ostensibly about getting head in an expensive sports car, makes a pit stop for psychopharmacology: “Desperate needs for them Xans, where my Da-Da at?” Not too many other rappers need anti-anxiety meds to deal with road head. Waka’s is a sort of mechanistic universe fueled by raucous partying, the leaden foot of anxiety on the pedal. Or, to use another metaphor provided by the author himself, Waka’s life is a neat and savage simple process — “Let them guns blam./ This a .44 bulldog/ It cannot jam.”

Pretty happy with my review of Waka’s Triple F Life. The point where the text becomes subtext and then back again (don’t say palimpsest) — Promethazine and Xanax are medications first and foremost.