Pitbull. You know you should break up with him, but every time he calls at 3 a.m., you get weak in the knees and let him in. Maybe it's the swagger, the self-belief, the one-track mind... yeah, there's something hot, in a brain-damaged kind of way, about a guy who can build entire albums around his pursuit of poontang. But he bookends these libido-encrusted raps with stabs at sentiment -- the Jigga-esque nostalgia of "Triumph," the treacly "Daddy's Little Girl." A for effort (and for the broader sonic palette here), but it's Pit as crotch-grabbing Miami dawg who really gets us panting.