It is his vocals at play, smoothly playing along to the reggae riddim, and then tuning it up a notch with even more pleasure-some alto on the chorus. When Bebe Cool sings like this, he is at his very best, sounding like a much younger, more gentleman-like individual, and not the ganja-snorting ghetto wasted boy that, he at times, comes off as.
He sings about how all he now owns has come as a result of his sweat. For a moment, he wins you over and even gives you temporary ownership of the song as you sing along and place yourself in his shoes.
Then he chooses to spoil the party by taking us down that old, tired, worn out road of player haters and enemies and foes and rivals and adversaries and opponents who want to bring him down.
We are now sick and tired of hearing about Bebe Cool’s enemies. Surely, Bebe Cool is way better than the enemy game, spending quality song time complaining about boys who hit the big scene years after he hit the big scene.
That weighs his songs down a great deal. In the end, it is a song that will make you love and hate Bebe Cool in equal measure.