Young Thug’s “It’s OK To Cry” is a profoundly somber, vulnerable, and cathartic meditation on grief, trauma, and the unending cycle of violence that has shaped his life. Serving as the devastating and emotionally raw final statement of his album UY SCUTI, the song is a final act of surrender, where the artist gives himself, and his listeners, permission to feel the full weight of their pain.
A Note on the Subject Matter
This article discusses themes of grief, violence, death, and mental health. The song contains a raw audio recording of a person in extreme distress. Please proceed with care. If you or someone you know is struggling, help is available.
The Core Meaning: A Final and Necessary Release
As the twenty-third and final track on the epic journey of UY SCUTI, “It’s OK To Cry” is not a conclusion in the traditional sense; it is a release. It is the moment the dam of suppressed emotion, built up over an entire album of defiance, paranoia, and pain, finally breaks. The core meaning of the song is a powerful and gentle act of self-permission. After a lifetime of being told to be tough, to be a soldier, to “dance ’round” the pain, the narrator finally arrives at a place of profound vulnerability, accepting that the only way to begin healing is to allow oneself to grieve.
The song is a haunting and deeply melancholic collage of the traumas that have defined the artist’s life. It is a world populated by ghosts, where laughter is intertwined with “ducking homicides,” where love is shadowed by the constant threat of loss, and where the artist is haunted by the violence he has both witnessed and participated in. The central mantra, “It’s okay to cry,” is a revolutionary statement in the hyper-masculine world of trap music, a rejection of emotional stoicism in favor of a raw and necessary catharsis.
Culminating in a harrowing, real-life audio recording of his sister Dolly White’s grief, the song transcends art and becomes a raw, unfiltered document of human suffering. It is a final, unforgettable testament to the profound and unending cost of the street life, a final, tear-soaked prayer from a survivor.
The Catharsis of Tears: A Radical Act in a Hyper-Masculine World
The very existence of a song titled “It’s OK To Cry” by an artist of Young Thug’s stature is a culturally significant event. The world of mainstream hip-hop, and trap music in particular, has long been a space governed by a strict and often rigid code of hyper-masculinity. Within this code, emotions like sadness, fear, and grief are often viewed as weaknesses to be suppressed at all costs. The ideal is the stoic, unmovable soldier, the man who can endure immense pain without flinching.
“It’s OK To Cry” is a direct and powerful rebellion against this code. The song is a radical act of emotional liberation. By repeatedly chanting the title as a mantra, Young Thug is not just speaking to himself; he is speaking to an entire generation of young men who have been taught that their tears are a source of shame. He is offering a new kind of permission slip, a message that vulnerability is not a weakness, but a necessary and courageous part of the human experience.
The song’s most profound piece of wisdom is found in the line, “Plus it’s when it’s time to rise, baby.” This is a crucial re-framing of the act of crying. In the old, toxic model, crying is a sign of falling, of breaking down. In Thug’s new, more emotionally intelligent philosophy, the act of crying—of releasing the pent-up pain—is the essential prerequisite for rising again. It is not the end of the battle, but the necessary first step toward true healing and recovery.
UY SCUTI‘s Narrative: The Final, Therapeutic Release
“It’s OK To Cry” is the ultimate and definitive conclusion to the narrative arc of UY SCUTI. It is the final destination after a long and torturous journey through the darkest corners of the human psyche. The album’s previous track, “Fighting Depression,” was the clinical diagnosis of the problem, a harrowing look into a mind at war with itself. “It’s OK To Cry” is the first step of the therapy.
The song is the direct result of the admission he made in the intro to “Sad Spider”: “Usually I can dance ’round it / This time, it’s gone to my head.” The entire album has been a chronicle of his attempts to “dance ’round” his pain—through hedonism (“Yuck”), through defiance (“Ninja”), through building a legacy (“R.I.P. Big & Mack”). This final track is the moment he stops dancing. He stops running. He stands still and finally allows himself to feel the full, unadulterated weight of his grief.
This is the true moment of liberation on the album. The story does not end with a legal victory, a romantic reunion, or a triumphant flex. It ends with a moment of quiet, profound, and painful self-acceptance. It is a conclusion that offers no easy answers, but instead suggests that the only path forward is through, not around, the pain. It is a final, masterful lesson in the “art of loving” and the art of living: learning to be kind and compassionate to oneself.
Lyrical Breakdown: A Dissection of a Traumatized Soul
The lyrics of “It’s OK To Cry” are a raw and poetic tapestry of grief, paranoia, and the haunting memories of a life defined by violence.
The Chorus: A Gentle and Powerful Permission Slip
The song’s chorus is its gentle, beating heart. The simple, repeated phrase, “It’s okay to cry,” is a lullaby for a broken soul. It is a message of profound self-compassion. This is immediately followed by the hopeful assertion that this act of release is what allows one to “rise,” reframing vulnerability as a source of strength.
The chorus also contains the song’s moral center: “Deep down, I hate these homicides, baby.” After an album filled with violent threats and gangster posturing, this is a moment of profound and simple truth. It is a weary condemnation of the cycle of death that he is trapped in. In the second chorus, this line is chillingly followed by, “These niggas wanna see me die,” a stark reminder that despite his hatred of the violence, he remains both a participant and a target.
Verse 1: A Haunting Collage of Trauma and Survivor’s Guilt
The first verse is a dark and disorienting journey into the mind of a man haunted by his past. He opens with a chilling image of traumatic bonding: “Early morning cries with the guys / Laughing about us ducking homicides.” This is the grim reality of his world, where near-death experiences are a source of both tears and laughter.
The verse is a catalogue of the burdens he carries. The paranoia of being a target is ever-present: “Money on my head,” “I travel with the stick.” The weight of loyalty is immense: “He been gone 11, and I still take care of his child.” But the most devastating burden is the moral injury of his own actions. The line, “I done took a life, and it’s driving me crazy,” is a shocking and heartbreaking confession. It is the admission of a trauma so profound that it has left an indelible scar on his soul, a source of the ghosts that he is “seeing… at my show.” The verse ends with a direct, painful question to the listener, “Have you ever woke up to a call that said he died last night?”, a moment that forces us to confront the brutal reality of his everyday existence.
The Outro: A Moment of Raw, Unbearable, and Real Grief
The song’s final moments are its most powerful, controversial, and unforgettable. The music fades, and we are left with a raw, unfiltered audio recording of Young Thug’s sister, Dolly White, in the immediate aftermath of a violent death. Her cries are not a performance; they are the sound of a human heart being shattered in real time.
This is a radical and almost unprecedented act of artistic vulnerability. By including this sample, Young Thug erases the final line between art and reality. The theme of grief is no longer a concept to be explored through lyrics; it is a raw, unbearable, and immediate experience. Her desperate, bargaining pleas to God—”God, I’m sorry for what I did, I’m sorry… please believe me”—are a devastating echo of Thug’s own spiritual crisis explored throughout the album. It is a final, harrowing testament to the cyclical and generational nature of the trauma that haunts his family and his community. The album ends not with his voice, but with the raw, unanswered cry of a woman’s grief, a final, chilling silence that is louder than any beat could ever be.