Juice, Joy, and Just Being Bad: The Rise of Lil Trini Kid

By Avery Anderson

Before the curls, before the catchphrases, before the viral banger with a name like a candy-coated secret—Lil Trini Kid was just a teenager in Tampa with a lot to say and a beat in his head.

Now? He’s one of the most exciting new voices coming out of Florida’s underground rap scene. Loud, proud, and totally unfiltered, Lil Trini Kid is flipping the script on what a rising rap star can look like—and sound like.

At first glance, the image is all flex and fun: juicy lyrics, cheeky hooks, and glitter-drenched visuals that feel like they came straight from a queer daydream. But that’s only part of the story. Behind the TikTok heat and club-ready hits is a young artist who’s been grinding, experimenting, and slowly building something real.

“I think when I decided to drop my first freestyle, that’s when it clicked,” he says. “After seeing the response I was like, ‘Oh yeah, time to lock in.’”

The Origin of “Ooshi Gooshi”

If you’ve heard the name Lil Trini Kid, chances are it’s because of “Ooshi Gooshi,” the sticky, absurd, strip-club anthem that’s half meme, half masterpiece. It’s wild, it’s wonky, it’s entirely unforgettable—and that’s the point.

“My mission was to go in and make a strip club banger for me and all my fellow gay/male dancers,” he explains. “I wanted it to be shocking yet infectious.”

Part inside joke, part empowerment anthem, “Ooshi Gooshi” doesn’t just hit—it grabs. It’s a statement piece dressed up as a party track. And for Lil Trini Kid, it marked the beginning of a sound that’s all his own.

Then came “Juice”—the flex track that turned up the volume even higher. No plan, no overthinking. Just a beat and a vibe.

“I didn’t really have a direction for this song besides me straight popping my sh*t,” he says. “It’s really all about fun.”

But under the gloss is intention. In lyrics like “Hating online like what did I do? / See me in person, think that I’m cool” and “Dance for the bands, gotta pay for school,” he’s clarifying the record—and claiming his power.

Trinidad, Tampa, and Total Swagger

His name says it all: Lil Trini Kid is proudly shaped by his roots. Born and raised in Tampa, with Trinidadian and Filipino heritage, he’s a self-described “beach boy” with a global pulse.

“I love soca, I love dancehall, I love reggae, I love it all,” he says. “And if you know anything about Trinis, we’re super infectious with our positive energy.”

That joy is everywhere—in the music, the fashion, the online presence that somehow manages to be both spicy and deeply endearing. But don’t let the drip distract you: Lil Trini Kid is a student of the game.

“NICKI!!!” he says without hesitation, when asked who first inspired him to rap. “I’m such a big Barb. But I’m also inspired by Drake, Lil Wayne, Uzi, Sexyy Red… It’s a long list.”

A City That’s Watching

Tampa may not have the mainstream rap spotlight just yet, but Lil Trini Kid doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s building something better—something that feels real.

“It feels amazing,” he says. “The city has my back. Everyone gave me my tens in real life, and it made me feel like the most special kid in the world.”

That support matters, especially in a state where LGBTQ+ artists often have to fight for space. But Lil Trini Kid isn’t waiting for permission. He’s already stepping into the spotlight.

“Success right now looks like being in the room,” he says. “Being booked and busy. Being closer to the space.”

And maybe a collab with Ice Spice. “She follows me on Twitter,” he grins. “Maybe I should ask her.”

The Layers You Don’t See

Scroll his feed and you’ll see a character. A provocateur. A kid with big hair and bigger bars. But meet him in real life, and there’s more to the story.

“I’m a huge nerd. A family man. I’m spiritual,” he says. “I think people would be surprised. I literally don’t post anything besides music, partying, or me being half-naked.”

Still, the glitter and the grind go hand in hand. Whether he’s flexing in a Jordan jersey or praying in silence, Lil Trini Kid is figuring it out in real time—and inviting us to come along for the ride.

So what’s next?

More juice. More joy. And probably more bangers about being bad.