Run The Jewels isn’t a side project. It’s a force—sharp, loud, locked-in. Since 2013, Killer Mike and El-P have delivered some of the last decade’s hardest, smartest, and most forward-charging Hip Hop. As a duo, they arrived later than many of the genre’s greats, but they didn’t come from nowhere. Before Run The Jewels took shape, Mike had already dropped R.A.P. Music—an album produced entirely by El-P—that lit the fuse on their partnership. That immediate and undeniable chemistry turned a producer-emcee link-up into something much bigger.
Their self-titled debut, Run The Jewels, hit like a hammer. No filler, no wasted breath. Songs like “Banana Clipper” and “Run The Jewels” punched through with distortion-heavy beats and dense, pointed verses. There’s a hunger in that album—a drive to disrupt, provoke, and move bodies at the same time. The 2014 follow-up, Run The Jewels 2, was tighter and meaner, with “Close Your Eyes (And Count to F**k)” pushing their sound into even more chaotic territory. It’s all movement—El-P’s industrial crunch and rhythmic pile-ups behind Mike’s explosive delivery.
By Run The Jewels 3, the sound had expanded. Songs like “Legend Has It” and “Hey Kids” came layered with synth stabs, sirens, and intricate rhythmic turns, while the duo’s lyrical back-and-forth grew sharper and more deliberate. RTJ4, released during a time of global unrest, didn’t slow down. Tracks like “Walking in the Snow” and “Yankee and the Brave” hit with urgency and control—built from sharp drums, distorted basslines, and verses aimed at systems of power.
Throughout, the music is grounded in a production style that hits hard from the low end up. El-P builds from chaos but keeps everything in the pocket—livewire drums, thick synths, feedback loops—and Killer Mike rises to meet it, his voice deep and commanding. Lyrically, they move between street-level fury, dark humor, and political fire without flinching. Their partnership isn’t built on contrast—it’s built on mutual firepower.
This list dives into 15 of their best songs—not to crown a single peak, but to explore the range and weight of their catalog. These tracks are loud, layered, and built to hit. Each one says exactly what it means to, and says it like a hammer to the gut.
15. A Few Words For The Firing Squad (Radiation) (2020)
“A Few Words For The Firing Squad (Radiation)” closes RTJ4 with strings, saxophone, and the weight of two lifetimes unpacked in a few minutes. There’s no hook, no explosion—just a tense, slow build while Killer Mike and El-P step out from behind the bravado to reflect. The title evokes a last statement before execution, and the lyrics follow suit: blunt, unguarded, defiant.
Mike opens with a recounting of struggle and sacrifice, threading personal pain with political rage. El follows with his own account—biting, haunted, and mournful in equal measure. These aren’t verses designed to impress, they’re moments of disclosure. Both artists wrestle with their roles as voices in the dark, and what’s left when the world turns off the mic.
As the song expands into its radiant, skyward outro, a sense of finality settles in. Not as an end, but as a reckoning. No fists raised—just voices carried as far as they’ll go.
14. 36” Chain (2013)
“36” Chain” is a ferocious, no-holds-barred anthem that introduces Run The Jewels with the kind of bravado and intensity that would define their career. Over a beat as gritty as it is infectious, Killer Mike and El-P assert their dominance with vicious rhymes and a fearless attitude. The track’s title, referencing a flashy 36-inch chain, serves as a metaphor for their unshakable swagger.
From the opening lines, the duo sets the tone with references to street life, loyalty, and self-confidence, all wrapped in their signature blunt, unapologetic style. The chorus—”And I walk around like I got a 36″ chain”—captures the essence of their audacious, larger-than-life personas.
The accompanying music video amps up the energy with an over-the-top narrative, blending action-packed absurdity and humor. With its aggressive production and in-your-face lyrics, “36” Chain” is a clear declaration: Run The Jewels are here to conquer.
13. Angel Duster (2014)
“Angel Duster” closes Run the Jewels 2 with a blistering reflection on the chaos and contradictions of life. The track combines a raw energy with a deeply introspective message, tackling everything from drugs to corruption to religion. Over one of the album’s most electrifying beats, El-P and Killer Mike fire off verses loaded with defiance, rebellion, and grim wisdom.
El-P’s verse is a defiant rant against false power and the deceit of authority, while Killer Mike questions the very essence of faith, truth, and survival. The repeated refrain, “Got kush for the pain, the world is dangerous,” highlights the survivalist mindset both men share in a world that seems set on destroying them.
The track feels both deeply personal and universally relatable, embodying the struggle of living in a flawed world. The pounding rhythm and fierce lyrics build an anthem of resistance, perfect for a world where nothing is as it seems. “Angel Duster” leaves a lasting impact.
12. Call Ticketron (2016)
“Call Ticketron” is a wild, high-energy track that sees Run the Jewels in full, unapologetic braggadocio mode. Centered around the imagery of their performance at Madison Square Garden, the song combines larger-than-life ambitions with an outlandish sense of fun. The title, inspired by the automated ticket service, is a perfect fit for a song that imagines RTJ headlining in the biggest venue of them all.
El-P and Killer Mike bring their usual gritty lyricism and bombastic delivery, with verses that traverse everything from space alien encounters to rebellion against the status quo. The chorus, a relentless chant of “Live from the Garden,” mirrors their high-octane persona, blurring the line between fantasy and reality. The production pulses with urgency, while the accompanying video adds a layer of surrealism with its chaotic alien invasion narrative.
“Call Ticketron” feels like an anthem of excess, yet it’s executed with such exuberance that its absurdity becomes part of its charm.
11. Ooh La La feat. Greg Nice & DJ Premier (2020)
“Ooh La La” explodes out of a single Greg Nice line lifted from “DWYCK” and stretched into a chant. El-P builds the beat around it with a crate-digger’s ear and a brawler’s instinct — looped piano stabs, trunk-rattling bass, and DJ Premier’s precision cuts slicing through the noise. It moves like a breakbeat cipher, but the production is massive, engineered for open windows and big speakers.
This is a celebration, but it never loses its teeth. Killer Mike opens with a grin and a threat, flipping a street anthem into a generational shout. El-P plays cleanup with a verse that scans like a manifesto hidden inside a playground rhyme. Their energy lands somewhere between block party and pressure cooker.
There’s clarity in how this track is put together. The elements are few but purposeful. The hook, the beat, the scratches, the verses — everything sits exactly where it needs to be. Nothing overstays, nothing distracts.
“Ooh La La” reaches back without collapsing into nostalgia. Greg Nice and DJ Premier don’t appear as museum pieces — they’re active parts of the engine. RTJ isn’t paying homage. They’re building something that sounds like now, using tools sharpened decades ago.
10. Run The Jewels (2013)
Run The Jewels opens with a siren and a beat that drills into the floor. El-P enters with a deadpan snarl, spitting lines full of threats, irony, and control. Killer Mike follows with brute precision. There’s no chorus, no buildup — just a steady barrage of verses. This is not an introduction. It’s a statement of existence.
The track shares its name with the group and sets the foundation. The production is dense and distorted, with drums that hit in staggered bursts. El-P’s programming avoids obvious patterns, and that unpredictability pushes the verses forward. Mike and El stay locked in, trading sections without hesitation. The transitions are clean and fast, like a relay with no dropped baton.
Their verses circle around violence, ego, and survival, but the subject is secondary to the form. The rhythm and pacing do the work. There is no space left between lines, no room for compromise or ease. Every sound on this track moves with intent.
“Run The Jewels” doesn’t rely on history or reputation. It builds from zero, brick by brick. The result is a first track that operates like a mission. No nostalgia, no framing — just execution.
9. Yankee And The Brave (Ep. 4) (2020)
“Yankee and the Brave (Ep. 4)” opens RTJ4 with full aggression. Killer Mike jumps in immediately, cracking the air with “Back at it like a crack addict,” while El-P drops a beat that snaps like broken glass underfoot. The sirens, distortion, and low-end pressure build a world in seconds. It feels like headlights flashing through a back alley just before someone pulls a trigger.
The song frames Mike and El as action-movie outlaws in a fictional show called Yankee and the Brave. The idea sounds absurd, but the way they deliver it is lethal. El-P weaves tight, hallucinatory phrases around militarized percussion. Killer Mike locks in with vivid, combative bars that suggest forward motion and survival by any means.
Their chemistry is pure instinct. The transitions between verses are seamless. The energy holds without a hook, without filler, just tension and fire. Every line works to push the track forward, like they’re racing the clock.
The outro flips the track into a fake TV stinger, ending the chaos with a joke. Until that moment, there’s no distance between the narrative and the performance. Yankee and the Brave functions as a threat, a manifesto, and a mission briefing. The album begins in motion, and it doesn’t brake.
8. Lie, Cheat, Steal (2014)
“Lie, Cheat, Steal” kicks off like a gleeful act of lyrical larceny—El-P and Killer Mike flexing their razor-sharp skills and darker impulses—but it quickly warps into something deeper, more dangerous. Underneath the swagger lies one of RTJ’s sharpest dissections of power, corruption, and the opaque systems that run the world.
Over a woozy, synth-heavy beat that sounds like paranoia incarnate, El-P delivers a dense, slippery verse full of black humor and bleak observation. “I’m a little black spot on a sun of lies,” he snarls, weaving personal mythology with jabs at institutional rot. His rhymes come so fast and warped that they feel like they’re bending around corners.
Then Mike stomps in with fire and fury, flipping the song from individual menace to collective outrage. His verse shifts the focus to systemic injustice—poverty, racial inequality, political hypocrisy—punctuated by that haunting refrain: “Lie, cheat, steal, kill, win.” Mike indicts, pulling the curtain back on who really holds the power, and what they’re willing to do to keep it.
It’s no wonder this track was tapped as the theme for Dirty Money—it sounds like a manifesto for the disillusioned. “Lie, Cheat, Steal” is like a warning siren in rap form, unflinching and unforgettable.
7. Hey Kids (Bumaye) feat. Danny Brown (2016)
“Hey Kids (Bumaye)” is a high-voltage call to arms wrapped in a chaotic, distorted banger—exactly the kind of middle finger to polite society that Run the Jewels has perfected. Built on El-P’s lurching, menacing production and driven by a chant of “Bumaye” (meaning “kill him” in Lingala, famously used during the 1974 Ali fight in Zaire), the track blends revolution, humor, and unapologetic filth into something genuinely unhinged.
Killer Mike kicks things off like a man on a mission, taking aim at tech billionaires and moguls—“plans to rob any Rothschild livin’, Bill Gates, and the ghost of Jobs”—with righteous fury and the presence of a fire-and-brimstone preacher. He’s not just angry—he’s surgical, hitting his targets with bars that sound like bricks hurled through boardroom windows. El-P follows with verses that veer into surrealist meltdown territory, slipping timelines, pissing on myths, and obliterating elites with the kind of wild-eyed energy that makes even his threats feel clever.
Then comes Danny Brown, and things get even weirder—in the best way. His verse is a tornado of slurred genius, twisted humor, and manic flexes. He’s the chaos mascot this track deserves, dragging it into full-blown madness with quotables flying in every direction. The song’s structure mirrors its theme: no rules, no restraint, just revolt.
“Hey Kids” doesn’t care about radio play or palatability. It’s loud, messy, and violent—and it absolutely slaps. This is Run the Jewels at their most anarchic, and they’re loving every second.
6. Banana Clipper feat. Big Boi (2013)
Run the Jewels wasted no time letting listeners know they were not here to play. “Banana Clipper,” the second single from their self-titled debut, arrives like a brick through a storefront window—loud, sudden, and impossible to ignore. If Run the Jewels is the sound of two heavyweights finding their chemistry, then this track is the moment they realized just how hard they could punch.
There’s no hook, no pause for breath—just a buzzsaw beat and a tag-team barrage from Killer Mike and El-P, trading lines with the kind of raw, grinning aggression that makes the air feel charged. El’s beat is grimy, chaotic, and mechanical, evoking sirens and factory smoke. It’s the kind of track that rattles your rearview mirror at a red light. Mike storms out of the gate with the controlled swagger of a prizefighter—“I move with the elegance of an African elephant”—before unleashing verbal chaos that’s equal parts hilarious and hostile. El follows with a scorched-earth verse that blends dystopian threats and absurdist braggadocio: “I’m talking grip pliers, guys, to the top of your teeth.” Brutal and cartoonish in the best way.
By the time Big Boi drops in for the final verse, the track is already on fire. And while his contribution doesn’t quite match the apocalyptic energy of Mike and El-P, he brings his signature Atlanta smoothness and business-minded confidence—“Retain ownership on everything, every car bought”—which acts as a grounded, grown-man contrast to the chaos.
This is pure adrenaline. No frills, no filler. Just three elite MCs on a scorched track, daring anyone to step to them. Spoiler: they won’t survive it.
5. Blockbuster Night Part 1 (2014)
In a discography packed with political firebombs and razor-sharp critiques, “Blockbuster Night Part 1” stands out as pure adrenaline. This isn’t a rally cry or a policy takedown—it’s a throat-punch of swagger, attitude, and lyrical flexing. And sometimes, that’s exactly what’s needed.
Coming off the momentum of Run the Jewels and R.A.P. Music, Killer Mike and El-P use this track to remind everyone that before anything else, they are elite MCs who rap circles around their peers. “Last album? Voodoo! Proved that we was fuckin’ brutal,” Mike announces, like a boxer stepping into the ring already drenched in someone else’s blood. It’s a mission statement, not a memory.
El-P’s beat is stripped to the bone: no hooks, no frills, just industrial clanks and a bassline that sounds like it’s been sharpened into a weapon. The minimalism works—it leaves space for the two rappers to unload unfiltered verses full of dark wit, gore, and unrelenting bravado. El growls, “We run a brand where destruction’s the number one commitment,” and you believe him. This is rap as scorched-earth policy.
What makes “Blockbuster Night Part 1” so essential isn’t just the lyrical demolition, though—it’s the chemistry. Mike and El aren’t just collaborators; they’re conspirators. They finish each other’s thoughts, punch through each other’s lines, and stay in perfect step while laying waste to every sacred cow in sight.
It’s a masterclass in momentum—furious, funny, and ferocious. In a year full of justified rage and sobering protests, this track offers no solutions, no messages—just release. Sometimes the most radical act is to rage for the hell of it.
4. Walking In The Snow (2020)
“Walking in the Snow” is a blistering postmortem of American rot. Released in the summer of 2020, as protests surged across the country, the track felt less like music and more like a warning flare in the dead of night. El-P and Killer Mike don’t ask for your attention here; they grab it by the collar.
El-P sets the tone with a beat that sounds like an air raid siren crossed with a Blaxploitation car chase: stuttering guitar fuzz, brass stabs, and bone-dry drums that march forward with grim purpose. His opening verse doesn’t pull punches—“Funny fact about a cage, they’re never built for just one group”—laying bare the lie of exceptionalism with one cutting couplet after another. But it’s Killer Mike who drops the song’s defining moment: “ you so numb, you watch the cops choke out a man like me / Until my voice goes from a shriek to a whisper, ‘I can’t breathe”—quoting African-American Eric Garner’s last words before dying in New York in July 2014 after a white police officer put him in a chokehold, but recorded before George Floyd’s murder, that line lands with such cruel clairvoyance that it practically splits the song in two.
Mike’s verse builds from childhood disillusionment to full-throated condemnation of America’s passive complicity—calling out educational inequality, police violence, and performative empathy with searing clarity. It’s the kind of verse that doesn’t just stay with you; it haunts you.
Despite the weight of the subject matter, there’s a strange propulsion to the track. El and Mike trade lines in the final verse like two street prophets tag-teaming a crowd, and Gangsta Boo’s chilling hook brings it all back to the brutal refrain: “Goddamn, that motherfucker cold.”
The only thing colder than the production is the truth they’re telling. No metaphor required.
3. Oh My Darling Don’t Cry (2014)
“Oh My Darling Don’t Cry” is a merciless statement of intent, a high watermark from RTJ2 that splits the difference between raw aggression and cartoonish swagger with pinpoint precision. The beat hits like a blunt object: distorted vocal samples twitch in the background, while synths pulse with the menace of a sci-fi heist gone sideways. It’s all muscle, no filler.
El-P’s production is the star for a moment, until Killer Mike and El start trading bars with such tight velocity it feels like they’re trying to outpace the beat itself. Mike skates in first with his signature bark, weaving between sly metaphors and blunt-force threats, “Me and El-P got time to kill / Got folks to kill, on overkill.” He sounds like he’s grinning through his gold teeth the whole time—menacing, yes, but having fun.
El-P, ever the verbal contortionist, stays wired and unhinged. “I do two things: I rap and f**k,” he deadpans, flipping between sex, surveillance, and satire in a matter of bars. There’s a manic glee to the whole thing, like two mad scientists high on their own supply, daring the room to try and stop them.
Then, two-thirds in, the switch happens. The track morphs underfoot—warped synths fade, the tempo collapses into something woozier, hazier. It’s like the high just kicked in, and suddenly you’re in the deep end. The vocal sample loops again (“Oh my / Don’t cry”), but now it sounds more like a dirge than a taunt.
This isn’t just flexing for the sake of it—“Oh My Darling Don’t Cry” is about showing teeth while laughing, dancing at the edge of the void. It’s chaos with choreography, and nobody does it sharper than Mike and El.
2. Close Your Eyes (And Count to F*ck) feat. Zack de la Rocha (2014)
There’s no easing into “Close Your Eyes (And Count to F*ck).” From the jump, Zack de la Rocha’s looped hook pounds like a war chant—urgent, repetitive, and locked into the rhythm like a standoff. El-P’s production piles tension on top of distortion, letting bass hits and clipped drums stagger under weight. The beat doesn’t ride so much as lurch, snapping back into place each time the chorus returns like a swinging door in a riot.
Killer Mike and El-P don’t waste a bar. Mike’s opening verse is firebrand and fury, jumping from police violence to prison rebellion in seconds. Lines like “We killin’ them for freedom ’cause they tortured us for boredom” don’t ask for nuance—they detonate it. His delivery is sharp and unrelenting, seething with the kind of anger that comes from inherited trauma and lived experience. There’s nothing abstract here—just blood, history, and a barely-contained call to burn it all down.
El-P answers with something colder. His voice coils tighter around internal rhyme and sarcasm, slipping references to cyanide pills, crooked courts, and surveillance states. Where Mike hits with force, El stabs from the side, loading dense phrases into a flow that never lets up. He’s not playing hype man—this is a two-man front line.
Then there’s de la Rocha, who storms in for the final verse like he’s been waiting years to let this loose. His voice carries that familiar Rage grit, shouting through metaphors of shadow governments and street-level resistance. Every line sounds scorched, clipped from a manifesto. By the end, the chorus returns with a final pulse of adrenaline—an alarm that never shuts off.
There’s no moment of relief here, no chorus to ease the weight. This is pure tension, pressed into music. It’s a song about power and pressure, and how that pressure breaks people down—or makes them explode. And it refuses to blink.
1. Legend Has It (2016)
From its first warped notes and blown-out drums, “Legend Has It” throws down a gauntlet. The hook is loud, the horns are distorted beyond recognition, and the beat moves like it’s been fed through a broken video game console. It’s claustrophobic and swaggering at once—an anthem built from rubbery low-end, siren-like stabs, and gaps that leave just enough room for two heavyweight voices to go wild.
Killer Mike opens with the kind of grandiose line that toes the line between joke and threat: “We are the new PB&J.” He’s half-smirking, but there’s no question he means business. This track comes early on Run The Jewels 3, and it’s a mission statement—loud, chaotic, rhythmic precision with just enough humor to throw you off before the next punch lands. Mike barrels through his verses with that rolling cadence he wields like a battering ram, dropping lines about tripping off acid and shooting at the sky like it owes him money. Every word is tight, every bar deliberate.
El-P matches that energy with his usual frenetic delivery, shifting gears between tangled imagery and one-liners. He calls himself a “living swipe right,” throws in a Con Air nod, and then ducks into surreal brags before getting under your skin with subtle jabs at paranoia and control. There’s a line about a unicorn horn that doesn’t even finish—comedian Emily Panic cuts in with a deadpan “stop,” bringing a brief pause to the madness. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it bit of comedic timing in a track that otherwise stomps forward like a tank.
Even without naming names or pointing fingers, “Legend Has It” holds tension in every line. The bars are laced with defiance and purpose, even when wrapped in absurdity. That balance is where Run The Jewels thrive—punchlines colliding with protest, grime layered over polish. There’s no pretense here. This isn’t an essay or a screed—it’s two MCs locking into one of the nastiest loops in El-P’s arsenal and setting fire to it for three straight minutes.
The track doesn’t announce itself as political, but its presence is loud enough. It doesn’t ask for attention—it grabs it, chokes it, and laughs in its face.