Oh My Darling Don’t Cry by Run the Jewels Lyrics Meaning – Exploring the Depths of Sociopolitical Rebellion
Lyrics
Fuck the law, they can eat my dick, that’s word to Pimp
(Hold on)
(Oh my)
(You are now listening to Run the Jewels 2)
Fuck the law, they can eat my dick, that’s word to Pimp
I don’t fuck with or talk like all these fuckin’ imps
Style violent, give a fuck if you deny it, kids
You can all run naked backwards through a field of dicks
Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit, that’s word to B.I.G
I dreamt we owned the world, but I’ve woken up and it don’t exist
Soak it in and need no assist. You can’t slap my wrist, I don’t owe you shit
Trust me, I’m a doctor DOOM
Oper-rate of my pulse won’t raise a bit
Tip-toe on the track like a ballerina
Ski mask in a Pontiac Catalina
It’s obese female opera singer
You can run the jewels or lose your fingers
Me and El-P got time to kill
Got folks to kill on overkill
He hangin’ out the window, I hold the wheel
There’s one black, one white, we shoot to kill
That fuckboy life about to be repealed
That fuckboy shit about to be repelled
Fuckboy Jihad, kill infidels
Allahu Akbar, BOOM from Mike and El
Life is hell, death’s a bitch
And these FUBAR rulers getting rich
I cop a zip, it opens up
I smoke it up, go home and fuck
C’est la vie girl, when in Rome
I gave the face, please pay with dome
My business card says you’re in luck
I do two things, I rap and fuck
I fuckin’ rap
I tote the strap
I smoke the kush
I beat the puss
I read the books, did the math
Don’t need a preacher preachin’ on my behalf
No teacher can’t teach my arrogant ass
I’m blowin’ on crippy while readin’ the scriptures
as written by Egyptians while sippin’ on whiskey
Aye baby you with me?
Oh my
Don’t cry
We run this spot like a Chinese sweatshop
Don’t stop
Work a worker ’til his chest pop
Cardiac arrested, I’m so invested
I’m self-invented
That’s no illusion
There’s no confusion
You see the future, you fear the future
I’ve seen the truth and I’m so deluded
I been a better bad guy than I been better than bad
Been a better bully, talk beatin’ on my chest
In fact I’m half stack from a rack
I been around the block, babe, I know a few facts
Maniac, brainiac, run go tell them that
ATLien, NY felon rap
Handle me wrong I’m snappin’
Show up at your class, what’s happenin’?
Schoolyard bully with a fully automatic
Heart full of pain and a head full of havoc
Everybody stepped on the kid I’m letting them have it (have it)
Leaving they momma to say “what happened?”
Who gonna buy my baby a casket?
Fuck that bitch I’m a bastard
Megablast, I’m mega lit
On Highway 6 and I’m not strapped in
I don’t crash, bitch, I just skid
You got the cash, I’ll make the trip
I make the trip, you better pay
Done worse for less, don’t make my day
I’m not from Earth, from far away
I bust through chests like baby greys
Runnin’ the jewels of the game
Whippin’ the mixes like chickens of ‘caine
Spittin’ the sickness again
Parents is livid again
Kids is just fuckin’ insane
Pointin’ that pistol and fist for the chain
Reppin the symbol like they in a gang
Delivery dope like a dosage of dope or
a noseful of coke for a junkie or fiend
Oh my
Don’t cry
In the turbulent seas of political unrest and cultural defiance, Run the Jewels’s ‘Oh My Darling Don’t Cry’ emerges as a thunderous anthem of rebellion. The song, a concoction of raw energy and poignant messaging, is a distilled expression of outrage against systemic injustice and societal norms.
The track from the duo’s sophomore album ‘Run the Jewels 2’ doesn’t politely knock on the doors of perception—it kicks them down, inviting listeners into a world where the unapologetic and the unbridled rule. El-P and Killer Mike deliver a blow after blow with their lyricism, intertwining personal bravado with broader socio-political commentary.
Dissecting the Anthem of Anarchy
The chorus of ‘Oh My Darling Don’t Cry’ is an adrenaline rush, a declaration of untouchability. El-P and Killer Mike don the cloaks of invincibility, rushing through the societal fields with a ferocious intensity, challenging norms and embracing their roles as the harbingers of chaos.
The sonic landscape they paint is one of unbridled aggression towards the authority—’Fuck the law’ isn’t merely a refrain, but a rally cry against perceived injustice. The duo’s intertwining of violent imagery and formidable beats crafts a soundscape that is simultaneously disturbing and cathartic.
The Dance of Duality in Killer Mike and El-P’s Verses
The dynamic between Killer Mike’s Atlanta grit and El-P’s Brooklyn menace creates a synergy that is central to the song’s allure. Their delivery oscillates between lethal precision and sublime eloquence, capturing the essence of what it means to be vulnerable yet impenetrable.
This duality is perhaps best encapsulated when Killer Mike spits ‘That fuckboy life about to be repealed / That fuckboy shit about to be repelled / Fuckboy Jihad, kill infidels.’ These lines serve as a metaphor for destroying the superficial and the fake—those ‘infidels’ of authenticity.
The Sonic Rebellion: Breaking Down the Beat
El-P’s production on ‘Oh My Darling Don’t Cry’ stands as a digital fortress of sound, amalgamating hard-hitting drums with snarling synths. The beat itself is a stampede, propelling the vocals forward, entwining the listener in its rebellion, daring them to break free from complacency.
When examined closely, every snare hit is a heartbeat of revolt, each bass drop a battle cry for the listener’s attention. The track’s aggressive sound design serves as an ideal backdrop for its venomous verses.
The Hidden Meanings: More Than Just Swagger
Beyond the braggadocio and the bombast lies a tapestry of commentary on power dynamics and social stratification. When El-P declares ‘We run this spot like a Chinese sweatshop,’ he’s drawing attention to the exploitation that underpins our global economy.
It’s these subtle nods to systemic issues that give the track its depth. The mirage of control and ownership in this capitalistic society is exposed through their lyrics as both an aspiration and a mockery.
Memorable Lines and Lasting Legacies
‘Life is hell, death’s a bitch / And these FUBAR rulers getting rich,’ these lines do more than rhyme—they recount a narrative of despair and inequality. They are a microcosm of the song’s provocative challenge to the status quo.
Killer Mike and El-P don’t just offer performative lyricism; they deliver a manifesto for change, set to a rhythm that one can’t help but nod along to. In doing so, they ensure the longevity of ‘Oh My Darling Don’t Cry’ as more than just a song—it’s a call to arms.
