DMX

R.I.P. DMX

When I was in high school, I bought a bootleg DMX CD from a flea market. I was so excited to take it home and listen to it. It was 2001 and his song “Party Up (Up In Here)” was a commercial hit, playing on the radio regularly. It was rare for me to buy CD’s because money was hard earned when I was a teenager but I loved DMX’s unique gruff voice and wanted to hear more.

I took that CD home and threw it in the player that afternoon and listened to song after song. My parents room was right next to mine and unbeknownst to me, my dad was taking a nap. The only thing that ever played at the house or on my dads car radio during trips to and from school, around town and on road trips was classical music and Rush Limbaugh. And I’m serious……nothing else.

So, DMX was obviously not my fathers cup of tea and when he heard the language blaring out of the speakers he was more than just a little bit bothered. I can’t remember if he knocked or just charged into the room but I clearly remember him lecturing me with deep disappointment that I would listen to “something like that”….”trash”. And then, I’m sure I got a sermon because I felt so guilty about buying the CD, that I actually broke it in half and threw it in the trash. After all, I didn’t want to disappoint my dad and I certainly didn’t want to disappoint GOD!

Looking back, I wonder if my dad had any curiosity about who DMX was and why his daughter wanted to listen to his music? And whether or not he should, instead of have a guttural reaction to what he heard coming out of the stereo, let her get an “unconventional” education from the stories DMX was sharing through his music.

DMX was born to teenage parents. His artist father left at an early age and his mother, along with a steady stream of boyfriends, beat and abused him throughout his childhood. He slept on the floor with roaches and mice. At 7, his aunt got him drunk. At 14, DMX started living on the streets. The first crime he committed was stealing a purse that netted him $1000. He used that money to buy his dog a leather collar and leash and himself a pair of shoes. DMX was a product of this traumatic childhood and a system that failed him and his family before that. It’s no doubt that it’s the trauma that led to the many demons he so aggressively fought throughout his life. Throughout it all- his faith was an important part and he never stopped trying to be a better person. His lyrics are often rooted deep in faith.

His music sheds light into the perpetual socioeconomic struggles disproportionately present in African American communities. They are his stories and the similar stories of struggle his African American brothers and sisters fight to overcome day in and day out. His music is an education for white America if we stop and listen.

DMX, under a new lens, I’m re-listening and re-learning through your music. I want to do better. I’m on a mission to be part of the solution and no longer part of the problem that ignorance allows.

R.I.P DMX……..

WHO WE BE

Uhh, yeah
Another one of those - this is for my nigga Q - down to earth joints
Rest in peace baby, you're not for me dawg

They don't knooow, who we beee
They don't knooow, who we beee

That's how many that don't know, they knew I could do it!
This goes out to my nigga Q - rest in peace baby
They still ain't ready...

What they don't know is!
The bullshit, the drama (uhh), the guns, the armour (what?)
The city, the farmer, the babies, the mama (what?!)
The projects, the drugs (uhh!), the children, the thugs
(Uhh!) The tears, the hugs, the love, the slugs (c'mon!)
The funerals, the wakes, the churches, the coffins (uhh!)
The heartbroken mothers, it happens, too often (why?!)
The problems, the things, we use, to solve 'em (what?!)
Yonkers, the Bronx (uhh!), Brooklyn, Harlem (c'mon!)
The hurt, the pain, the dirt, the rain (uhh!)
The jerk, the fame, the work, the game (uhh!)
The friends, the foes, the Benz, the hoes (what?!)
The studios, the shows, comes, and it goes (c'mon!)
The jealousy, the envy, the phony, the friendly (uh-huh!)
The one that gave 'em the slugs, the one that put 'em in me
(Whoo!) The snakes, the grass, too long, to see (uhh, uhh!)
The lawnmower, sittin, right next, to the tree (c'mon!)

What we seeing is!
The streets, the cops, the system, harrassment (uh-huh)
The options, get shot, go to jail, or getcha ass kicked
(Aight) The lawyers, the part, they are, of the puzzle (uh-huh)
The release, the warning, "Try not, to get in trouble" (damn!)
The snitches, the odds (uhh), probation, parole (what?!)
The new charge, the bail, the warrant, the hole (damn!)
The cell, the bus, the ride, up North (uh-huh)
The greens, the boots, the yard, these hearts (uhh!)
The fightin, the stabbin, the pullin, the grabbin (what?!)
The riot squad with the captain, nobody knows what happened
(What?!) The two years in a box, revenge, the plots (uhh!)
The twenty-three hours that's locked, the one hour that's not
(Uhh!) The silence, the dark, the mind, so fragile (aight!)
The wish, that the streets, would have took you, when they had you
(Damn) The days, the months, the years, dispair
One night on my knees, here it comes, the prayer

This here is all about!
My wife, my kids (uh-huh), the life that I live (uh-huh)
Through the night, I was his (uh-huh), it was right, but I did
(Uh-huh) My ups, and downs (uhh), my slips, my falls (uhh)
My trials and tribulations (uhh), my heart, my balls (uhh)
My mother, my father, I love 'em, I hate 'em (uhh!)
Wish God, I didn't have 'em, but I'm glad that he made 'em
(Uhh!) The roaches, the rats, the strays, the cats (what, what?!)
The guns, knives and bats, everytime we scrap
The hustlin, the dealin, the robbin, the stealin (uhh!)
The shit, hit the ceilin, little boy, with no feelin's
(Damn) The frustration, rage, trapped inside a cage
Got beatin's 'til the age, I carried a twelve gauge
(Aight!) Somebody stop me (please!), somebody come and get me
(What?!) Little did I know, that the Lord was ridin with me
The dark, the light (uhh), my heart (uhh), the fight (uhh)
The wrong (uhh!), the right (uhh!), it's gone (uhh!), aight?

Man listen
These motherfuckers don't know, who we are!
They don't know
They couldn't possibly fuckin know dawg
That's from the heart