Megan Thee Stallion is a lithe clotheshorse of a wordsmith whose lyricall bread and butter is commanding men to pleasure her. Never mind that none of them, as depicted in her catchy, think-piece-dominating songs, ever truly satisfy her; it’s just thrilling to hear one of the game’s sharpest MC’s come up with endlessly clever ways to describe her Carrie Bradshaw-esque sexual hijinks. In the end, Megan always comes out on top.

Something for Thee Hotties: From Thee Archives, her latest mixtape makes good on the ratchet anthems she’s been mainlining  for the last five years (every sexy nurse this Halloween likely had a Meg caption somewhere on her IG). But there’s a deluge of illicit sumptuousness here, like too much Devil’s food cake. And, over the course of 21 tracks—mostly freestyles and unreleased cuts from the prolific rapper’s vaults —it feels like one big delectable but ultimately excessive sugar high.

Opener “Tuned In Freestyle” finds Megan gliding over a jittery Miami-bass-invoking track, spitting salacious couplets like, “Hot girl shit, never let ’em cool off/Make him do what I say, he my voodoo doll/Backshots, balcony, we don’t care who saw.” The brazenness of her bars is jaw dropping. And you see why she’s probably the only rapper who can, impromptu, wreck a booth, then have her catalog celebrated in the syllabi of prominent Black feminists.

Likewise, the self-explanatory “Eat It” brims with empowering lines that seem to deemphasize the “how to please your man in the sack” pointers posed in so many magazines geared toward women. Meg, over punchy bass, chuckles, “How many times have I heard that somebody last long?/These niggas ain’t lastin’ a minute/How many times have I heard that a nigga was big but dick as small as an egg-shaker?” Her lyrics might feel emasculating to some men. That’s just a sign, though, that the patriarchy is as fragile as their egos.

But if this is “Hot Nerd Fall,” we need a bit more of the “nerd” factor from the self-confessed anime aficionado. And songs like the dismal “Warning,” with its sluggish 808s-driven backdrop and weary PornHub-category tropes feel superfluous next to more dynamic, idiosyncratic hits from her oeuvre, like “Savage,” with its effortless high-low dichotomies.

Ditto for the uninspired “Outta Town Freestyle,” which lacks the pop and verve (and brainy “Onomatopoeia” reference) of her scathing “Stalli (Freestyle).” Clearly Megan is living it up, and pushing the culture forward for good measure. But with too much turn up, this hot girl might start to leave us a bit cold.