Anthony Griffin's tragic end: Rap, religion, and a life on the edge

Anthony Griffin, better known in New York's battle rap scene as Fox 5, wasn't always the troubled figure who ended up swinging a machete through Grand Central Terminal. Born in the Bronx, Griffin grew up in the shadow of a changing city and a music scene that loved and discarded artists quickly. By the time he carved his name into headlines with a violent rampage, he was a man many barely recognized anymore. His descent wasn't just about poverty or a lack of fame—it was rooted in something far deeper and harder to fix: the deep grief after losing his mother in 2021. After her death, Griffin spiraled fast. Friends say his usual energy turned into something darker. He drank constantly, couldn’t sleep, and eventually ended up in city shelters. He searched for meaning in religion and even changed his rap name to Gawdflow, believing hip hop could find spiritual redemption. But the change didn’t bring peace. One close friend recalled Griffin suddenly talking more about God, sometimes losing track mid-sentence. Another mentioned he'd had multiple seizures from heavy drinking, something no one could ignore.Music had once been his escape. Griffin started rapping in the late '90s, earning respect in battle circles for clever lines and sharp wit. Those who knew him then remember a funny, quick-minded guy who could make people laugh even in tough times. But the industry changed. Deals dried up. Griffin stepped back, only to come back years later preaching through freestyle lyrics on subway trains. His last months were a mix of survival and spiritual searching, riding trains between Queens and the Bronx, handing out verses and faith instead of stability. On April 11, Griffin carried a machete he claimed was for “protection. ” He got on the 7 train near his Queens home but got off at Grand Central instead. What happened next shocked even those who’d known him for years. In a matter of minutes, three elderly strangers were attacked—84-year-old man cut on the head, a 65-year-old man’s face slashed with a skull fracture, and a 70-year-old woman struck on the shoulder. Griffin moved through the station with purpose, screaming he was “Lucifer, ” a claim that stunned his family who’d always seen him as a Christian man. Two transit cops gave clear warnings, ordering him 20 times to drop the weapon. When he refused and advanced instead, they fired. Griffin was hit twice and later died at a hospital. His cousin could only say, “I never expected him to go out this way. ” To the people who loved him, the violence defied everything they knew about Griffin — a man who once made crowds laugh, who spoke of faith, who tried to preach peace in a city that had given him little in return.