The last “Rappers Teach You Life Lessons,” post I did, I simply posted the video with no commentary. This time I have a few things to say. Now I am no rap aficionado and sadly I just heard this song in the last few years (I know, don’t take my black card away!) but it touched me, for so many reasons, even the format they did it in, him calling Puff to get things off his mind – a delirious call a lot of mentally ill people have made. It’s actually a perfect example of what runs through your head when you’re feeling suicidal. You’re in a completely different mindset, one you can’t be reached.
Firstly, for a man so talented to be brave enough to rap about suicidal thoughts really impresses me. Secondly, celebrity mental illness I find so fascinating (I will write more on this later). Thirdly, this really all fits into what I’ve been saying about fighting black stigma about mental illness. Here is a large sized black man, who I am sure people stereotyped as a tough person. Tough black men don’t have weaknesses such as suicidal thoughts and yet he describes his ideation in this song in great detail. It’s quite a breakthrough actually. And lastly, it’s a shocking song but if a man who grew up in the ghetto surrounded by drugs and crime can’t be suicidal, who can?
A great exert from A Story to Tell: Biggie & Narrative – “Suicidal Thoughts”
“Suicidal Thoughts” captures the existential despair of a morally conflicted young man, one confined to his metaphorical four-cornered room early in life. We see a moment of weakness, extreme in its intensity but immediately recognizable: a Yom Kippur of the soul.
What the fuck time is it, man?
Oh goddamn, nigga!
Do you know what time it is?
Aw shit, what the fuck’s goin’ on? You aight?
Nigga, what the fuck is wrong with you?
‘Cause I’m a piece of shit, it ain’t hard to fuckin’ tell
It don’t make sense, goin’ to heaven with the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Timbs and black hoodies
God’ll prob’ly have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin’ all day, no gettin’ my dick licked
Hangin’ with the goodie-goodies, loungin’ in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice (You talkin’ some crazy shit now, nigga)
All my life I been considered as the worst
Lyin’ to my mother, even stealin’ out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wish she got a fuckin’ abortion
She don’t even love me like she did when I was younger (Get a hold of yourself, nigga!)
Suckin’ on her chest just to stop my fuckin’ hunger
I wonder, if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My baby mother’s eight months, her little sister’s two
Who’s to blame for both of them? (Nah, nigga, not you)
I swear to God I want to just slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit (Nigga, what the fuck?)
And squeeze until the bed’s completely red (It’s too late for this shit, man)
I’m glad I’m dead, a worthless fuckin’ buddha head
The stress is buildin’ up, I can’t— I can’t believe (Yo, I’m on my way over there, man)
Suicide’s on my fuckin’ mind, I wanna leave
I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin’ callin’ me
But nah, you wouldn’t understand (Nigga, talk to me please, man!)
You see it’s kinda like the crack did to Pookie in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain’t no comin’ back (Yo, I’ma call you when I get in the car)
Should I die on the train track like Ramo in Beat Street
People at the funeral frontin’ like they miss me (Ayo, where your girl at, man?)
My baby mama kiss me, but she glad I’m gone (Yo, put your girl on the phone, nigga!)
She know me and her sister had somethin’ goin’ on
I reach my peak, I can’t speak (Ayo, you listenin’ to me, motherfucker?)
Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak (Ayo, c’mon, nigga)
I’m sick of niggas lyin’, I’m sick of bitches hawkin’
Matter of fact, I’m sick of talkin’
(Ayo Big! Ayo Big!)
Please hang up, this is a recording