From the carb-positive album Everybody Eat Bread…
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[5.00]
Jonathan Bogart: In which we have to wait through far too much boring schoolboy posturing to get to Waka being Waka.
[4]
Katherine St Asaph: The 3 points off are for the 3/10 of this track that doesn’t involve Waka or the instrumental. Strengths: play to them!
[7]
Jonathan Bradley: Not since “Duffle Bag Boy” has there been a Southern banger in which the guest so effortlessly outclasses his hosts, and as with “Duffle Bag Boy,” it almost doesn’t matter. Flocka is a force of nature here: battering the track’s regal synth fanfare like an insurgent horde storming the Bastille. He spits, growls, and huffs a volley that suggests a hundred Flockas might have invaded the studio, not just one. The Rich Kidz themselves aren’t as interesting, and unlike “Duffle Bag,” the hook on “My Life” is only competent. Is any single lyric here quotable? Great remix potential though.
[6]
Iain Mew: Another chance to say that I love a lot of the sounds that Waka makes (“plow plow plOW!” makes a reappearance! Alongside “FLEX!”, “oooOOOOH!” and lots besides!). Also, the air horns are a good match to the preposterous hugeness of the instrumental, so thumbs up for that too. Let’s agree not to mention the rest of the track.
[5]
Michaela Drapes: I heard this — or something like it — roiling out of a car this morning. I say something like it, because outside of how this (literally) grinds to a halt when Waka shows up, it’s honestly interchangeable with too many other tracks of similar provenance. That being said, “…and I hate a pretty fake girl with some dirty feet” is probably my favorite lyric of the quarter, easily. (That’s some seriously country shit, that’s what that is.)
[4]
Anthony Easton: Growing up out west, I fucking love steak (you know, I can’t get a good blue rare steak in Toronto), but steak every night would be dull and kind of boring. Steak is actually kind of a minimal/boring food. I would be more impressed if instead of steak, he hired Ferran Adira to remake El Bulli’s final meal every second Thursday. This is a metaphor.
[4]
Jer Fairall: Damn right it’s your life, so feel free to live it up as you wish, but when you stick us with a production this sludgy and disjointed, a flow this hackneyed and uncharismatic, and a guest spot this barking and obnoxious, you show just as much contempt for your listeners as your lyrics do for your “bitch.”
[2]
John Seroff: The marching band horns, starburst synthetic percussion and thumping bass on “My Life” are all outstanding, the rapping notably less so. Brick Squad vogue rubs me wrong; lamentable lyrics and a lazy, thudding attack on the syllables render the vocals near indistinguishable from the dj drop-ins and air horns that densely garland the work. Rich Kidz fall on the more distinguished end of that spectrum, which still marks them as sub-par(tna dem) to my ears. As with “Lemonade” before it, now that I’ve copped the instrumental, I can’t imagine any reason to return to the single proper.
[6]
Brad Shoup: The stormcloud-descent of the intro may steel you for some emo rap, but it’s the Rich Kidz! Time for the young-on-top anthem with the drum programming that crackles like a Taser’s current. But there’s a weird cautionary streak running through this. While Skooly goes for the rapturous rasp, Yung PU keeps an eye on the inflow. Everyone just got Breitlings, but Yung wants you to know he went for the lower maintenance of the diamond-free version. Speaking of maintenance, you need to ponder the true cost of that Bugatti.
[7]