Yeah Yeah

Hulvey turns a homecoming into a testimony on "Yeah Yeah," riding a hook that stacks four simple affirmations — squad, God, ball, all — like a chant you'd hear from a bench before tip-off. The verses keep circling back to Perry Lane, the neighborhood he came up in, and to a decision not to regret any of it: looking back at those times, he insists there's nothing he'd change. Gratitude for Jesus sits right next to the everyday details, from pulling into the studio to pulling up in the hood, and he draws a line between the finer things he's seen and the diamond rings he isn't chasing. Fame gets named and dismissed; making a change gets named and claimed. There's a looseness to the writing — pasta on the plate, running through the rain, rocking the stage — that keeps the song from feeling like a sermon, even when the punchline is that God is all he needs. The repeated "yeah yeah" works less as a lyric than as a exhale, the sound of someone young, grateful, and unbothered, counting blessings instead of trophies.