Crack Sandwich by Jid Lyrics Meaning – A Hard-hitting Depiction of Struggle and Survival
Lyrics
Cowards and it’s gonna be sicker than all the niggas who-
Yeah, uh, look
You can tell a nigga like me ain’t never had shit
R.I.P., I miss my dawgs like Mike Vick
Zombies in that midnight fog, them boys sic ’em
Fall victim to a gun brawl started over some bitches
Niggas trippin’, they taking whatever’s given
The irony when a nigga starving, gotta grip the biscuit
Jump the fence, empty all the dishes out your kitchen
If you witnessing the click-click-clickin’ they spill the grits
Feel the kick, fuck a fair catch, kill ’em, who tryna take the hit?
First take, go to first base, Stephen A. Smith Wess’ on the hip
Talkin’ shit like Skip
Or Shannon Sharpe shootin’ off the top of the cliff
And if I got to bring it to you cowards then it’s gonna be sick
Put in my ten thousand hours while the clock still tick, Zone 6
Five fingers with the suck my dick
Me and Izzy was slap boxin’, nigga bust my lip
Start fighting lil’ brother on some tough guy shit
But if you ever did me wrong he on some “what’s right” shit
Bust a left, feel the pressure like the bust pipe drip
Blood red, rum sippin’, they ain’t cut like this
Mama said, “When you fall down stand up get a bandage”
“I ain’t got cheeseburger money, make a sandwich”
“Why you being bad? See, your Dad’ll get ya ass whipped”
Seven cracked head bad kids in a Caravan
Somebody involved in stealin’, it’s on (it wasn’t)
It’s gon’ be so bad
When the girl went off on Precious (they’re gonna protect you)
The girl went off on Precious and Rosalyn went in
No, Rosalyn said
“Oh, for real, I’ll see you when you get outside” (exactly, exactly)
That’s okay, my fault, my fault (Rosalyn s-, woo)
(Rosalyn said-) for real?
No, no, no, no, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop (look, uh)
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
You can tell a nigga like me ain’t met a nigga like me
Metaphysical things seen in dreams, what you believe?
You bleed, I bleed, and draw blood
I’m a fucking artiste, Artest, with the gun
I can give my world peace, give your world ether
Big dick or grief, I can give your girl either
She could be the, could be the collapse of a kingdom
But Kings gotta peep deceit, word, the Caesar
Remind me to keep receipts, y’all shit weak
I ain’t worried that that bullshit leaked
See the volumes it speaks to your broke speakers
Niggas breakin’ they back tryna promote some shit that ain’t even dope
They ask for my coat when I walk through the door
God flow, I don’t walk on the floor
God knows y’all hoes, y’all shows ain’t packin’ the door
Crack in the floor, I’on even know niggas rappin’ no more
Okay, runnin’ my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, I am not you
Runnin’ my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, I am not you
Runnin’ my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, I am not you
Runnin’ my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, how about you?
Look, uh, I do it for Royal and Rosalyn
Rachel and Carl, Izzy, Precious, Destin
Strong seven kids, different blessings
Izzy athletic as fuck, All American star
Hard head, scholarship but his school in New Orleans
On the football shit, but in class he on the smart shit (hey)
Black man using his mind, it’s a target on your forehead
Gotta stay on point like a marksman
Make a mark, leave a footprint before marching
Bro graduating so we heading to the blue state (yeah)
Fam celebratin’ granny cookin’ up a few cakes
Yeah, gown on with the cap like a toupee
Handed a diploma, all the room say, “Hooray”
Hooray, today, catch a bouquet
Tonight’ll probably be a movie, what’s a Blu-ray?
I got some new Jays and a fade, we hit the section with the football team
And a couple other professionals
It sound cool, but really this a confessional
Twenty minutes in and Precious done went to the restroom
Said they got to hittin’ with some women and they ’bout to get kicked out
They ain’t even tell us what that shit was about
All I really seen from the big VIP couch
Was a nigga swing and hit my sister right in the mouth
The bouncer tried to block the door, that way we couldn’t get out
But fuck that, the whole team bust that motherfucker down
Now we fighting in the street, it’s like ten against twenty-three
I was seventeen swinging on any and everything
Bing bing, seen my brother doin’ buddy like a boxin’ ring
Ros’ got a bitch doing the hair weave sling
So beautiful, beatin’ ass was like a family thing
Fightin’ together made us tighter in spite of how we would argue and scream
And now we brawling right outside of a party in New Orleans
And all the people start police calling
Pack us inside of a patty wagon, we sardines
To saltine crackers that wanna shackle us in chains (hey)
Lo and behold they held us in the holding cell for six or maybe seven hours
Just to let us go without a stain
But who’s to blame when all of us got the same mind frame?
We like a gang, mom and pop would probably be proud and ashamed
Pound for pound my sister Precious never lost a fade
Got up of the ground and she said she could hear my father saying
Mama said, “When you fall down stand up get a bandage”
“I ain’t got cheeseburger money, make a sandwich”
“Why you being bad? See, your Dad’ll get ya ass whipped”
Seven cracked head bad kids in a Caravan
Hold on, hold on, hold on
What happened? What happened? What happened?
He came in the club
We’re talking, we go to the restroom
I go in the bathroom open the door
“Dang, B, you could’ve said sorry”
And I said “B? You ain’t gotta day say all that, it ain’t that serious”
And she was all, “Oh, it’s that serious because you were in the bathroom”
Ra said, “Okay B, I got you when you come outside”
Time she opened the door, Rosalyn said, “Roof”
I said, “Oh, okay, we fighting” (damn)
She was in the stall (oh, the stall door)
Yeah, she was peeing, girl, she pulled her pants up
She opened the door and Rosalyn hit her (and proceed to-)j
And you know what?
In an age where lyrical prowess often takes a backseat to catchy beats and chorus hooks, JID stands out as a torchbearer for dense, thoughtful hip-hop. His track ‘Crack Sandwich’ off the critically acclaimed third studio album serves as more than just a song; it’s a gritty novella, each verse laced with the weight of lived experiences and lessons learned the hard way.
Navigating through its potent allegory and visceral storytelling, ‘Crack Sandwich’ unfolds as a testament to JID’s narrative mastery. Rather than merely listening to the track, one experiences it – wading through the murky waters of hardship, family dynamics, and the systemic adversities faced by African American communities.
Duality of Survival: Starvation and Artistry
‘Crack Sandwich’ kicks off with a glimpse into a life of survival. JID’s vivid imagery encapsulates the harsh reality of those living on the fringes, fighting for scraps, and often resorting to violence over ‘some bitches’ or ’empty all the dishes out your kitchen’. The irony of starvation forcing one to ‘
