151 Rum by Jid Lyrics Meaning – Deciphering the Complex Narrative of the Streets
Lyrics
Yeah
Run, Ricky, run, run, nigga, run, jump, nigga, jump
Come here they come, run, run, run, run
Gun with the drum, bum bitty bum, slump in the trunk
My city go dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb
151 Rum and a blunt, young nigga numb, numb, numb and he got a little gun
A little bitty killer really doin’ it for fun
Give him a little bit and he’ll get a nigga done
Son of a God, son of a bitch
Son of a woman and man, son of a son, in a sunken abyss
Summon a plant, please come with a strip
Cover my back, cover mad, please come with the bliss
Look at the stash, JID like a magician
Fuck that, this some real ass shit, I paid blood for this
Takin’ cheese from the government
Cereal boxes with the bugs in it
Hand me down, this my brother brother shit
Don’t compare me to no other other niggas
In the city, boy, they say they fuckin’ with you
Heebie jeebie, that’s a bit disgustin’ but I get it
I’m full of tension, full of spirit but full of shit
Standin’ next to Lil Tay when that bullet hit him
Shit, I miss him, I wish that that bullet missed him, but it didn’t
And since I been livin’ with it like a sickness
Intimate, infinite rhymes, give me the baton
A tickin’ tickin’ time bomb, takin’ the finish line
Look alive, look in my eyes, look at you niggas tryin’
And you dumb, dumb better run, run ’cause we fryin’ em
Eastside, where ya from, from niggas wildin’
So be silent before my niggas creep silent
With street knowledge, complete nonsense
Delete comments, online, all lies, we see violence
Everyday in my eyes, they killin’ my niggas, die, nigga die
Pull up with the fire, get ’em nigga, it’s eye for an eye
If we gotta ride, fuck it, nigga, ride for the ride of ya life
Diabolical minds, I don’t mind it, I like it, I like it, I love it
I fuck wit’ you, you a thug, I’ma thug with you
We can knuck, we can buck if a nigga fuck wit’ you
I got love for you out the mud with you, off the muscle
Run Ricky, run, run nigga, run, jump nigga, jump
Come here they come run, run, run, run
Gun with the drum, bum bitty bum, slump in the trunk
My city go dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb
151 Rum and a blunt, young nigga numb, numb, numb and he got a little gun
A little bitty killer really doin’ it for fun
Give him a little bit and he’ll get a nigga-
Amidst the myriad of tracks that grapple with the gritty truths of street life, J.I.D’s ‘151 Rum’ stands out as a masterful narrative. The song is not just a mere assembly of words rhymed over an infectious beat; it’s a detailed painting of survival, loss, and the incessant cycle of violence that hammers upon the underbelly of urban existence.
Answering the call for literary dissection, ‘151 Rum’ can be peeled back layer by layer to reveal the painstaking detail with which J.I.D pens down his reality. Beyond the immediate shock of its tumultuous tempo, there lies a depth waiting to be explored, a story hidden in plain sight, veiled by the smoke of gunpowder and the intoxicating haze of 151-proof rum.
A Ritual of Escape: 151 Proof of Numbness
The track opens with a desperate mantra of survival: ‘Run, Ricky, run’. The repetition strikes a note akin to the beat of a war drum — a signal to flee the omnipresent violence. The reference is multi-layered, possibly nodding to ‘Boyz n the Hood’ where Ricky meets his tragic end. It encapsulates an environment where flight often precedes fight as a means of survival.
J.I.D, through these words, is giving us more than a chorus. He’s sketching the reality where the high proof rum becomes the chosen anesthetic for the pain experienced in his urban coliseum. The feeling of being ‘numb, numb, numb’ is as much a form of self-preservation as it is a byproduct of existential hopelessness.
The Dichotomy of Divinity and Humanness
J.I.D delves into the complex nature of man’s existence in the track. Presenting himself as ‘Son of a God, son of a bitch,’ he encapsulates the inherent contradictions of being human. This line, in itself, is a riddle presenting his divine potential juxtaposed with the more worldly, base aspects of his nature.
The mention of a ‘sunken abyss’ and the summoning of a ‘plant’ could be interpreted as an allegory for seeking solace and enlightenment amid chaos. He’s crafting an armor out of the dense lyrical bramble, asking for both protection and happiness (‘cover my back, cover mad, please come with the bliss’).
Illusions of Magic in a World Too Real
By comparing himself to a magician, J.I.D isn’t claiming to perform tricks, but rather admitting the sleight of hand necessary to survive. ‘I paid blood for this,’ he asserts, attesting to the real-world costs of his metaphorical tricks, which include navigating the welfare system (‘Takin’ cheese from the government’) and growing up with ‘cereal boxes with the bugs in it’.
The magic here is a grim kind — the magic of making ends meet, of transforming nothing into something. It’s a testament to the resourcefulness required in a world where the socioeconomic deck is perpetually stacked against those in his verses.
The Mystic and The Tragic: When Bullets Cast Shadows
One of the most chilling moments arises with the line, ‘Standin’ next to Lil Tay when that bullet hit him’, where J.I.D touches on the personal anguish of losing someone to gun violence. This poignant reminiscence lays bare the heart-breaking reality of how life can be snuffed out in an instant, leaving survivors to deal with an irreversible ‘sickness’.
J.I.D’s narrative is intimate yet universal, transporting listeners into the moment of loss, which disrupts any romanticization of violence prevalent in the genre. It’s an introspection on mortality and the dire consequences of the ‘eye for an eye’ mentality that pervades street law.
The Relentless Ticking of the Street’s Time Bomb
J.I.D concludes the song with a powerful vignette of street life as a ‘tickin’ tickin’ time bomb’. It’s a metaphor for the constant tension, the potential for violence at any moment. This time bomb doesn’t just tick for J.I.D — he claims it’s in his hands, and with his rhymes, he’s both the lyrical and literal harbinger of the explosive finish line.
These verses reveal the cyclical and self-perpetuating nature of violence and retaliation (‘Eastside, where ya from, from’). The line ‘Delete comments, online, all lies, we see violence’ speaks to the desensitization and denial of what’s happening, yet J.I.D forces us to confront the uncomfortable reality, demanding attention and perhaps, introspection.
