“It’s Tricky” by Run-DMC is a musical cannonball hurled into the intersection of rock and hip-hop, a song that ignites dance floors while rattling the walls of genre classification. Released in 1986 as the fourth single from the trio’s groundbreaking third album Raising Hell, the track helped cement Run-DMC’s status as cultural icons who weren’t just making music—they were remaking what music could be. With its roaring guitar riff, pounding beat, and signature tag-team vocal delivery, “It’s Tricky” didn’t just represent a catchy tune with clever lyrics. It served as a high-voltage mission statement about integrity, artistry, and the chaos of navigating fame in a genre that was still fighting for legitimacy.
From the moment the track begins, with its swaggering riff lifted from The Knack’s “My Sharona” and flipped into something completely new, “It’s Tricky” lays out its attitude with the force of a freight train. The opening is pure adrenaline, an invitation that doubles as a warning. What follows is two and a half minutes of verbal dexterity, staccato cadences, infectious energy, and declarative swagger from Joseph “Run” Simmons and Darryl “DMC” McDaniels, propelled forward by the bombastic production of Rick Rubin, who knew exactly how to weaponize noise and melody.
Lyrically, “It’s Tricky” is an exploration of frustration and pride in equal measure. The titular word—tricky—becomes a stand-in for everything from the expectations of fame to the challenges of maintaining authenticity in a world that increasingly demanded compromise. “This speech is my recital, I think it’s very vital / To rock a rhyme, that’s right on time / It’s Tricky is the title,” the song begins, immediately identifying itself as not just another party anthem, but a performance rooted in precise craftsmanship. In that single verse, Run-DMC position themselves as not only entertainers, but technicians of rhythm and rhyme. The song is a commentary on their skill, their struggle, and the complexity of being pioneers at a time when hip-hop was still treated like a passing fad by mainstream institutions.
The beat is unmistakable—pure hard-hitting, boom-bap energy that defies passivity. It’s a track that demands movement. The chopped guitar sample from “My Sharona” brings a rock edge to the track, a sonic blend that Run-DMC had already toyed with in their version of “Walk This Way” with Aerosmith. But where “Walk This Way” was a full-on fusion collaboration, “It’s Tricky” keeps the rock influence at arm’s length, bending it into the DNA of hip-hop rather than cohabitating. This approach made the track palatable to rock fans while keeping it grounded in the streets of Hollis, Queens, where the group was born and where their credibility remained rooted.
Run-DMC’s delivery is brash but never careless. Their rhymes are sharp, cadenced, and incredibly tight. They don’t just spit lines—they bounce off each other with chemistry that’s unmistakable and thrilling. Run’s slightly more flamboyant delivery contrasts perfectly with DMC’s gravel-throated authority, and when they trade lines, it’s like watching two great boxers in sync, dancing in and out of the ring with perfect timing. They’re not just telling you that it’s tricky to rock a rhyme—they’re proving it, beat for beat, bar for bar.
But “It’s Tricky” isn’t just about lyrical complexity. It’s about perception. The verses explore the tension between fame and identity, the surreal experience of having their words misinterpreted, twisted, or ignored. “They say I'm overrated / Musicians really hate me” is a jab at critics who dismissed hip-hop as either an artless trend or a commercial gimmick. But it’s also defiant—Run-DMC are reminding the world that they’re aware of the backlash, and they’re not backing down. That tension—between being celebrated and being critiqued—gives the song its pulse. It’s a party song, yes, but it’s also a protest.
What makes “It’s Tricky” so enduring is how effortless it sounds despite the technical brilliance. There’s no wasted space, no filler. Every line hits, every beat lands. The hook is unforgettable—chanted, not sung, sticking in your head like gum on a sneaker: “It’s tricky to rock a rhyme, to rock a rhyme that’s right on time / It’s Tricky.” It’s simple, but not simplistic. It captures the heart of the song’s argument in one declarative loop. Making this look easy is hard.
In the context of Raising Hell, “It’s Tricky” is the perfect distillation of what the album was doing. That record exploded boundaries—between rock and rap, street and stadium, underground and mainstream. “It’s Tricky” stood out even among the hits, not because it was the most revolutionary, but because it was the most fully realized distillation of Run-DMC’s ethos. Braggadocious, funny, sharp, and above all, real. It was a song for breakdancers and frat parties, for boomboxes and MTV, for kids in Queens and teenagers in Iowa. It proved that hip-hop didn’t have to dilute itself to be universal.
The cultural moment of 1986 is also essential to understanding the power of “It’s Tricky.” Hip-hop was still largely marginalized on the radio, still considered dangerous or novelty by critics. Run-DMC were among the first to break through that wall, not by softening their music, but by doubling down on its punch. They didn’t dress in glam or designer suits—they wore Adidas, fedoras, leather jackets. They didn’t apologize for their sound or background—they amplified it. “It’s Tricky” was a Trojan horse of authenticity, a track that snuck into mainstream America’s living rooms and refused to leave.
Live, the song became an anthem. It electrified crowds. It became a staple of concerts, block parties, and DJ sets across the country. There was something cathartic about shouting those words together in unison—a communal acknowledgment of the contradictions and absurdities of life and art. Everyone understood that trying to live truthfully, or creatively, or even just with dignity in a complicated world—was tricky.
The visual component of Run-DMC’s success can’t be ignored either. Their appearance, their attitude, their refusal to be anything other than themselves turned them into visual icons. Their aesthetic was as bold as their sound—no-frills, sharp, and instantly recognizable. When they performed “It’s Tricky” on television or in music videos, they didn’t need backup dancers or pyrotechnics. They had presence. Their movements were syncopated with their rhymes. They didn’t just perform music—they embodied it.
Over the years, “It’s Tricky” has taken on a life far beyond its original context. It’s been featured in commercials, movies, video games, and memes. It’s played during sports games and weddings. It gets dropped into remixes and sampled in unexpected places. But it’s never lost its original power. Its message—that doing anything with real passion, especially in the face of public scrutiny, is inherently difficult—remains as relevant today as it was when it first dropped. It’s not just tricky to rock a rhyme. It’s tricky to be honest, to be creative, to be seen.
For Run-DMC, the song became part of their essential identity. While “Walk This Way” may have been their most commercially successful single, and “King of Rock” their boldest genre fusion, “It’s Tricky” is perhaps their most universally beloved. It’s a song that captures what made the group great—their chemistry, their fearlessness, their wit, and their total command of rhythm and rhyme. Even as hip-hop evolved into new subgenres, new aesthetics, and new technologies, “It’s Tricky” remained an anchor, a reminder of a time when two MCs and a DJ could blow your mind with nothing more than beats and bars.
Jam Master Jay’s presence on the track is subtle but crucial. The DJ was always the third weapon in Run-DMC’s arsenal, and even though “It’s Tricky” isn’t built around turntable wizardry, his fingerprints are on the song’s pacing, structure, and live feel. The beat hits harder because of his timing. The spaces between the words feel tighter because of his intuition. He wasn’t just a background figure—he was the glue. His untimely death in 2002 sent shockwaves through the hip-hop world, and listening to “It’s Tricky” today also carries a weight of memory. It’s a reminder of his genius, and of how vital DJs were to the foundation of hip-hop culture.
The song’s influence can be traced in countless places. Artists from Beastie Boys to Eminem, from Missy Elliott to Kendrick Lamar, owe some portion of their ethos to the blueprint that Run-DMC laid down. The idea that a rap song could be raw and clever, funny and fierce, catchy and uncompromising—that was born in tracks like “It’s Tricky.” And in that sense, the song isn’t just a piece of 80s nostalgia. It’s a foundational stone.
Today, as hip-hop dominates global music culture, it’s easy to forget that there was a time when it had to fight for air. “It’s Tricky” didn’t just win that fight—it made the battle look fun. It laughed at the doubters, celebrated the struggle, and turned complexity into a hook. And it still rocks a rhyme that’s right on time. Every time.
