Afroman’s Free Speech, Reviewed
Not all heroes wear capes; some will show up to court in an American flag suit to defend his right, as a citizen, to cuck a cop on wax.
Art by Deliria Vision
Afroman is back, commanding worldwide attention at a scale we haven’t seen since the turn of the millennium, when he was penning stoner karaoke standards from the backwoods of Mississippi and distributing the mp3s through Napster. The fact that almost every news item is obliged to preface his name with a mention of his defining anthem, “Because I Got High,” shows how long it’s been since most Americans have even thought of Afroman, a rapper who established himself as the mad genius behind your favorite novelty weed song—leaving such a big imprint in a particular moment of time that, for the public, his memory was stuck there. You could hum any bit of that song to a friend and still get instant recognition of its title and author, but you wouldn’t think much of him beyond that.
At least, until now. Never one to evade the reach of the law, the “Palmdale” rapper has spent the past three-and-a-half years at the mercy of vengeful Ohio sheriff’s deputies, who busted down the door of his Winchester residence in 2022, then got upset and sued him when Afroman did what Afroman does best: rap about everything that happened, from the warrant to the damage to the aftermath. The Adams County Sheriff’s Department relied on a confidential tipster who claimed to have seen large hoards of weed and money at Afroman’s home, as well as women forcibly detained in the basement. There was no other documented corroboration or evidence, but a judge signed off anyway.
It turned out, Joseph Edgar Foreman actually had nothing in his house except for his wife, kids, and CD collection—and a bunch of cameras, which nicely complemented his wife’s cellphone recordings of the break-in. So even though one of the raiders tried to break his recording equipment, he had enough clear footage to blast all across social media, while taking care to point out Adams County sheriff’s deputies got nothing from his house except some lemon pound cake crumbs.
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Not content to merely identify the warrant-signing judge and the instigating cops—much like how Mac Dre named Det. McGraw on “Punk Police”—Afroman publicized everything about them he could, through songs and video clips. Nothing was off-limits, from the officers’ professional indiscretions to their spouses, allegedly taken care of by Afroman himself. (His own wife, presumably, could not be reached for comment.) A retaliatory lawsuit, filed against Afroman back in 2023, is simply horrified that he would treat law enforcement in such a manner, singing about their lives and spreading their photos across the internet. But what did Afroman do that made this a legal matter, exactly? Well, per the filing, he caused them “emotional distress, embarrassment, ridicule, loss of reputation, and humiliation.” It was self-evidently ridiculous—and when Afroman finally faced the charges in court this month, his American flags and First Amendment knowledge in tow, the jury quickly agreed. The cops took the stand and demurred on questions about whether Afroman screwed their wives for nothing.
Since we live in a country that reacted to a mass protest movement against police racism and brutality by promulgating the most sweeping civil rights rollback in decades—including multiple prosecutions that attempted to lock up rappers on the basis of their lyrics alone—the resilience of Afroman on the stand couldn’t help but inspire. He exposed an instance of police abuse, resisted the inevitable retaliation for it, doubled down on the taunting, and won so handily that Wikipedia now deems him a “civil liberties activist.” Even Fox News had to respect the game. As with 2 Live Crew in the ’90s, it took the horniest and bawdiest of rappers to remind the United States of the freedoms it promises. The people have rewarded the effort by sending complaints to seemingly every Adams County Sheriff’s Department across the country. Remarkably, they’re also scouring his catalog again, having been belatedly reminded that Foreman has jams—outside of “Crazy Rap” aka “Colt 45”—on which he tackled production and played the background instruments. (See also: “Cali Swang’n,” “Mississippi,” “Sell Your Dope.”) The man’s already been touring accordingly.
Which brings me to why I’m here. Yes, Afroman fought the law—but let’s not forget, he made some genuinely interesting music in the process. The first song he released about the ordeal, “Why You Disconnecting My Video Camera,” has a wickedly dense yet zippy chorus (“white supremacists on my premises/what is this—a racist feminist?”). An ode to the First Amendment takes the chorus to the Carpenters’ “Superstar,” drops it down maybe four octaves, and reminds the po-po not to amend his constitutional freedoms for their personal vendetta. More recently, we’ve got an irresistibly catchy downtempo bounce that reminds you, over and over again, that “Randy Walters is a son of a bitch.” [Cue the ooh’s.]
It’s honestly a pretty quality batch of music, initially released piecemeal over the years before ramping up this month as the trial took off (and ended) in earnest. There were other stunts and tunes from the intervening years—a kinda-sorta presidential campaign, a track about Hunter Biden’s crack habit—but nothing so sensational as these very personal, very vicious, very funny, very musically astute joints. Appropriately, Foreman is going to bundle the newer songs together in a new album, Freedom of Speech, which drops on April 20 (of course) and will include some new musical reflections on the showdown (“DEPUTY DUMBO DUCC DOUCHE DYNASTY FUCC BOY FIDEL CASTRO UNCLE JACCASS JESSIE ZZ TOP COP OSAMA BEEN STEALING MY CLOTHES”). In anticipation, here’s a thorough listing of all the songs Afroman’s released about this journey so far, in chronological order, evaluated as works of art on their own terms.
“Why You Disconnecting My Video Camera” (2022)
The song that started it all, about the raid that started it all. The motifs that will persist throughout the whole affair are on display: comparing a deputy to Peter Griffin, hitting another with comparisons to Beetle Bailey and Private Pyle, keeping up the flag-waving patriotism as he battles these officers the same way the founders fought off the loyalists (“The British are coming, the British are coming!”). This song has a more frantic pace, with more straight rapping here than in the later catalog entries, its narrator understandably panicked in light of the injustice wrought upon him and still figuring out what, exactly, to do.. Of course, there’s always the internet …
Rating: 4 mics
“Will You Help Me Repair My Door” (2022)
This one’s a bit of a repetition, and not just thematically. The gist: Afroman restates various elements of this case, over and over, and juxtaposes them with visual reminders of how the cops went about it. “The warrant said narcotics and kidnapping,” incredulously hammered again and again until Afroman cheekily admits, “well, I know narcotics.” Pan over to the cops digging through his suit closet and his CD booklets: “Any kidnapping victims inside my suit pockets?” “Any kidnapping victims inside my CDs?” Reasonable questions about a highly unreasonable search. Then, after surveying the physical damage, a plea for justice: “Will you pay me for doing me wrong, or will I have to get paid for doing this song?” Well, we’ve since gotten to know the answer to that.
Rating: 3 mics
“Lemon Pound Cake” (2022)
An “Under the Boardwalk” rendition about the sweet treat that became such a defining symbol of the Afroman saga that the Cincinnati Taste of Belgium did a free lemon-pound-cake-flavor-waffle giveaway. If the goal of this wholly derived ballad was to get us all salivating for Mama’s Lemon Pound Cake, then it was no doubt a success.
Rating: 3.5 mics
“The Police Raid” (2022)
The only track on this list without an accompanying video, and the opening track for 2022’s Lemon Pound Cake, the first album to come out of this whole affair. (In case you’re wondering: Yes, the record appears in the lawsuit, accused of acting as an unfair instrument with which Afroman could profit off the house invasion.) After playing excerpts of news coverage around his case, Afroman hosts a sketch playacting as a sergeant whipping up his troops into executing a clearly uncalled-for raid. They find nothing in the house, not even Afroman himself (“He must be on tour, signing titties and whatnot”). But they do find … some lemon pound cake??
Rating: 2.5 mics
“Freedom of Speech” (2026)
Clocking in at exactly four minutes and 20 seconds, and released at the first of the month, Afroman gives us his best Karen Carpenter rendition—but instead of pining for a rock star who got away, he sings desperately for the Bill of Rights. (“Don’t you remember you said I had freedom of speech?/ Now I’m getting sued because of what you teach/ America should practice what she preach.”) The first song in this series to explicitly mention the lawsuit, it’s also much more sober, serious, and pleading. “It’s OK if you kill me/ but it’s wrong if I rap and people feel me?” Perhaps another one for the “Fuck the Police” tape.
Rating: 3.5 mics
“Licc’em Low Lisa” (2026)
Honestly, not my favorite of the lot, and not just because it’s decently transphobic. Concerning the woman on the Adams County force who disconnected one of his cameras (see also: the song that kicks off this playlist), whom Afroman calls a lesbian throughout the 13-minute track when he isn’t implying she’s secretly a man. I can’t feel too sorry for Lisa, to be clear, but just as a song, this one’s too long, unimaginative, and juvenile compared with the others. At least he got under Lisa’s skin.
Rating: 1.5 mics
“Shawn Grooming Grooms” (2026)
Afroman’s particular vendetta against plaintiff Shawn Grooms is a sheer masterclass in wreaking revenge on your ops. You see, Grooms had blamed Afroman for ruining his marriage through the release of his early songs, thus leading to divorce proceedings from his wife, Rhonda. Well, Afroman got Rhonda herself to testify on his behalf during the trial, and not only did she deny it, but she also stated that Shawn and his colleagues had laughed about the early songs and found them amusing. If that weren’t humiliating enough for Mr. Grooms, the 21-minute video (which also features his ex-wife, off-screen, as Afroman riffs on the Beach Boys’ “Help Me, Rhonda”) refers to the cop as a hunchbacked, drug-abusing philanderer who takes advantage of everyone he pursues and arrests on the job, and yet dares to accuse Afroman of causing his divorce. I will never hear the classic songbook standard “Blue Moon” the same way again, without thinking of Grooms, high on shrooms, in cheap hotel rooms. (As a side note: Does anyone know whether Afroman has seen Blue Moon the movie? It’s pretty good! And only kinda-sorta about the titular song.)
Rating: 3.5 mics
“Batteram Hymn of the Police Whistleblower” (2026)
As Afroman marches on, donned in sunglasses and an American flag suit, he repurposes the immortal “Battle Hymn of the Republic” to call out every single one of the raiding, litigious cops fueling this suit while reminding everyone, over and over again: “My proof’s on the internet.” You can’t help but feel a little patriotic when hearing Afroman turn this classic into his own, determined and ready to beat back the un-American foes encroaching upon his First Amendment rights. I like to think John Brown himself would be proud.
Rating: 4.5 mics
“Brian Newland Is a Flag”
Between “Not Like Us,” the Epstein files, and the rise of “pedocon theory,” it’s pretty disconcerting just how deeply topics related to pedophilia are embedded in our culture, huh? Anyway, not really sure I can safely comment upon this one.
Rating: 1.5 mics
“RANDY WALTERS IS A SON OF A BITCH”
Perhaps the most unabashedly joyous and secretly vicious of all these songs—and resultantly, the best overall. I haven’t stopped singing this one under my breath, to the mighty concern of all my peers and loved ones. It’s perfect, from the autotuned hook to the professed cuckoldry to the absolutely withering outro (“Don’t you ever flip me off on my own surveillance system you punk-ass, no-good mothafucka! He’s a penguin-lookin’ muthafucka!”). Not to mention, it’s an incredibly bold move to accuse a rural cop from Ohio of falling prey to the opioid crisis. When the aliens come to take their pick from the ruins of our future climate-changed Cat’s Cradle wasteland, a stray phone somewhere will still be playing this one, and those intergalactic beings will have a good chuckle.
Rating: 5 mics