R3 DA Chilliman, “Fat Joe”
I came across a tweet from Los Angeles media personality Dejon Paul arguing that every L.A. rapper today is either riffing on or extending two dominant lineages: the gang-centric, danceable G-funk revival popularized by YG, or the woozy, paranoid, code-heavy minimalism pioneered by the late Drakeo the Ruler. It’s a take that feels hard to shake. For the better part of the last five years, L.A. street rap has largely flowed downstream from those two poles. Even the city’s modern standard bearer, Kendrick Lamar, dipped into both wells on 2024’s gnx—tapping DJ Mustard’s kinetic, club-ready bounce (so crucial to YG’s rise) with “TV Off,” while experimenting with the slippery, off-kilter flows Drakeo made his signature on tracks like “Hey Now,” and “Not Like Us,” which technically wasn’t on gnx, but came out around the same time.
Still, there’s a deep bench of L.A. rappers pushing these templates forward rather than simply tracing them. R3 Da Chilliman sits comfortably in that lineage. Raised in the Inland Empire, he draws heavily from Drakeo’s playbook with a cool-headed delivery, elliptical phrasing, and that ever-present sense of controlled unease, but bends it into something distinctly his own. On “Fat Joe,” R3 flips the idea of “leaning back” from a celebratory dance into something darker and more literal: the slumped, off-balance aftershock of getting hit with a .40 caliber. It’s a grim punchline that fits neatly into his world.
R3 glides over hazy, skeletal production packed with the snapping drums, rubbery basslines, and eerie, half-lit melodies that should be familiar hallmarks to anyone following L.A. street rap in the past five years. He drifts between topics like lean habits, designer fits, and romantic friction. The real standout, though, is his pacing. R3 starts his verses in a near-drowsy crawl, spacing his bars like he’s still waking up, then gradually accelerates until he’s skating across the beat, words stacking on top of each other. By the end, it’s almost dizzying to keep up, “I can’t even hang with you unless you’re armed and dangerous, parking lot filled with spaceships,” he says in a brief, quicktime flow, a subtle flex of technical ability in a track otherwise built for late-night cruising, somewhere between paranoia and calm, riding back to the Inland Empire from L.A. proper.
Mike Sherm & G-Bo Lean, “CEO”
This is the hardest Mike Sherm song in what feels like years. The beat is built around a looped vocal sample of a woman saying “it’s never,” and with Mike Sherm, it’s all in the delivery. The way he says “I scored and then I re-scored” carries the type of swag that could only come from being raised in the hustlers’ capital of America: The Bay Area. G-Bo Lean comes in after Mike with a completely different vibe, vocals sounding almost like they were recorded through a jail phone. It adds a gritty, unmastered feel to what was already a trunk-rattler.
Mike Sherm is what Tyga would be if Tyga weren’t a loser. He’s mastered a phoned-in redundancy that should’ve pushed him out of the conversation years ago, yet somehow he remains ever-present. Mike Sherm makes the type of street turn-up anthems Tyga was able to pull off before we all got to know him. He never pretends to be much more, though he sometimes reaches highs Tyga seldom could, like with the meditative “Ballin.” I’m hoping “CEO” is the beginning of a real album rollout from Mike, something he’s been allergic to thus far in his career.
Pz, “First Date #rds”
P’z is an Atlanta-born, Senegalese-Gambian rapper and model who’s been quietly building momentum in ATL’s underground and beyond. Born Payusu Njie, he reps ØWay—a collective whose name translates to “against oppression”—and seems to split time between the booth and the runway. He’s caught co-signs from Playboi Carti and is part of a new wave of Atlanta artists weaving West African heritage into the city’s street rap DNA. P’z has no official project to speak of, instead choosing to lace his YouTube with nonstop single drops seemingly out of nowhere. It’s helped build his underground mystique, and the music itself has stood out as the Atlanta scene continues to fragment and diversify beyond its trap roots.
P’z opens “First Date” on the run. “They said I’m a flight risk, I done’ missed my court date/Spent like two months in France, and it feel like this my birthplace,” he raps, a line that’ll resonate with anyone who’s ever overstayed a European summer. The production is classic trap DNA (think Young Jeezy, Gucci Mane) but dialed back, stripped of its edge, and stretched out into something dreamier. It’s a perfect backdrop for P’z’s delivery, which channels Playboi Carti’s cadence with more clarity and less chaos. No mosh pits, no demonic ad-libs. Just something smooth enough to soundtrack a sunny afternoon in Biarritz, court date be damned.
Trim, “Coconut Water”
It was “Coconut Water” by South Carolina rapper Trim that got me. I found it last Sunday, and within minutes, I had Google Docs open, fingers already moving. That doesn’t happen often as a Rap Up writer. It’s a gut thing, the kind that makes the hair on your arms stand up. “This is the song of the summer,” I muttered to myself as the chorus kicked in, all bouncy and carefree, transporting me straight back to 2014. A simpler time. West Coast production everywhere, early college days. And by college, I mean rehab. Like London on da Track’s beat for Tyga and Youth Thug’s “Hookah,” or any number of DJ Mustard and Tyga collabs.
So naturally, Monday morning rolls around, and I see Mano from Pitchfork already beat me to it with an excellent track review at the top of the week. But I’m undaunted. There’s enough Trim to go around for everyone, am I right twin!? (immediately jumps off bridge after saying this).
I’ll admit, I was skeptical at first. The chorus has major annoying TikTok challenge energy, and if it’s already blown up there, forgive me for not checking. But as the track unfolds, Trim slides through different flows with surprising ease, pulling from the zaniness of Missy Elliott, the club-ready swagger of Tinashe, and the dexterous wordplay of early Nicki Minaj. The way she tosses off rapid-fire asides like, “Used to rock Polo, but now I got on that Gucci, shit/If you keep talking I’ma act like I’m moody/He said I act like a bad hoe, I was like hold up/I just got me a tan, whoa, I hit up Florida,” shows she’s anything but one-dimensional.
Black Fortune, Babyfxce E, and Baby Kia, “Grandma Boy”
This AI video is anything but impressive. I’m sure it’s fun for some, but to me it’s a soulless mess, macho bullshit brought to life with thoughtless prompts and whatever else it takes to shit out something this effortless-looking. The verses build from weakest to hardest, with Baby Kia closing out with the most fire. His flow is unorthodox and sharp, full of contradicting boasts like “selling that white, that Hillary Clinton/Rob a man, but I got good intentions.” His delivery here channels Atlanta’s Ola Runt, that same alien-sounding vocal texture, all high-pitched strain and unexpected melody. Black Fortune and Babyfxce E hold their own, but it’s Baby Kia who steals the show and slams the curtain shut. On the other side of Mother’s Day, I’m sure his grandma is proud.
FrostydaSnowmann & Flashy B, “No Patience” f/ FMG Lil Flashy
FrostydaSnowmann’s YouTube comments have been some of my favorite scrolls ever since the rapper went viral in August 2025 for allegedly stealing over $5,000 worth of Pokémon cards from multiple card shops in Oxnard, California. No matter what he drops, his comment section is flooded with posts like “Frosty spreading his Pokémon card money” and “I got $200 for a holographic Jigglypuff get at Frosty!!!”—just a small sampling.
His latest single, “No Patience,” continues to showcase Frosty’s toxically clever delivery and subject matter. He’s a true L.A. character who never quite leaves my radar, because the moment he does is the moment he’s back with a song undeniable enough to get even Tyler, the Creator on board. “No Patience” isn’t the most fun Frosty song, but it retains that certain quality that keeps me coming back: a genuinely unique flow and extremely L.A. visuals that feel like hood vlogs in their grainy authenticity.
got seiji in the chamber means he's really bout to blow