The Sadness Of Flo Rida: Part 3

What is a man?

Is it a being of flesh and blood?

Is it a state, a collection of ideas and themes?

Or is it a Club, a single mission, a single party, a single purpose?

These are questions that we have to consider when discussing the works of Mr. Flo Rida who, beneath a champagne-swilling, girl-gazing exterior, hides a hurt soul, torn between humanity and the Club. In the first Sadness of Flo, I discovered these tendencies toward depression. In the second, it became clear that, in an effort to curb his spiraling tendencies, Flo had become more than just a rapper, he had become the Club incarnate.

Now, more than a year later, we take another look at Flo. Where is he mentally? Has his spirit improved? Is he close to becoming the man he deserves to be, or has he digressed further?

flo rida wild ones

“Wild Ones”

“I like crazy, foolish, stupid…”

Flo accepts his lifestyle, in a Stockholm Syndrome fashion, unable to reconcile his need to be both only one Flo AND only one Rida. Flo is the man behind the curtain, wiping his tears and ensuring that the façade, the only one Rida, doesn’t lose his invisible grip. The balance is lost. What you see here is a ghost, a husk.

“Got a hangover like too much vodka,

Can’t see me with ten binoculars…”

Of course not, Flo. How can we see….what really isn’t there?

“Tell them this, bottoms up with the champagne…”

It’s the only advice that Flo can give, this shallow remedy to problems. Flo doesn’t even believe his own words, but they’re what the people expect from Rida. And Flo Rida is never one to disappoint his audience.


“I’m a damn shame,

Order more champagne, pull a damn hamstring”

This is a staple of Flo’s output, the veiled deprecation mixed with the Rida tendencies. Flo is embarrassed of the man that the public sees, but he refuses to do anything about it. He just allows his self-destruction to continue and only has the courage to insult himself because of his weakness. It’s no way to solve a problem, but it’s all that Flo, in his weakened state, can muster.

“Told me she’s not a pro

It’s okay, it’s under control”

Where are your standards, Flo? Four years ago, you would’ve demanded a pro. You used to have a line that you wouldn’t dare cross, and after all the rejection and loss of identity, now you just willingly accept any girl who needs to cross something off of her bucket list and gives oral like she’s trying to chew through a rope? I’m honestly embarrassed for you.

“Goin’ In”

“…the club is mi casa”

Direct and unabashed. A normal person would look past this, but the trained eye won’t accept it as anything less than the Rida side completely dominating the personality.

“I Cry”

“I know you wanna get behind the wheel, but only one Rida…”

I was wrong. I thought that Flo Rida was the club incarnate. But now I realize that there are, indeed, two distinct pieces to the Dade County puzzle. And now, as we progress, the definition blurs. Soon, there will be just only one Rida. Flo will have withered into nothingness, a casualty in this internal struggle. In this line, Rida taunts Flo. He knows that his opponent is dying, and he can’t help but mock him and his futile thrusts towards control.

flo rida

“Oh no, I can’t stop, I was destined…”

But…for what? What is the sadistic universe’s plan for Flo?

“Sacrifice just to make a hit still vivid…”

Is that what this is all about, Flo Rida? Hits?

Run away, Flo. You can leave this life if you want to. Sell the “quarter million on your necklace” and go out and buy a nice piece of property away from the pop-rap game that has savaged your individual self and driven you mad. There is still hope for you. Take up painting. Buy a diary. Forget the champagne buckets and all the whistles from the untrained. The clock may tick faster but time hasn’t completely run out. You’re the modern Gatsby, but you don’t have to meet the same fate.

“Look at me steering…”

Your foot’s on the gas, but we have no idea who’s steering. The cliff is ahead. And Flo might be the one that goes over.


“Maybe I’m insane,

‘cause I keep doing the same damn thing…”

The end is nigh. The repetition has led to giving up. There is no escape.

“Make me forget my name…”

It’s the only one you have….it’s….it’s….it’s Rida.


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