Basquiat
If tortured souls painted the bottom of their feet, Basquiat the concrete...you would find guts, find a tender heart easier to chew, to savor/it's joy on palette like color combinations, break the rib cage, let them sample the flavor...
if we could reach into the bottomless pit, scratch the surface of understanding that the misfit that we are/ is the very thing that makes us a star, famous in four years, wealthy in six
but, we're sick with the circumstances surrounding, the acrylic we sniff or the families we pick, like Afro fist in thick hair, we revolutionize revolution...
with a prick to the skin and perfumed poison...solutions that our pain tell our veins are the mere whiff of euphoria just circle our cloudy heads, and that's enough to live ...we stay in the fluff of not giving a shit,
it's all a lie …so we lie down, give our skin for soles to walk on, trekking all of what they've collected into our flesh covered homes
and we burn sage and sin to clean our pores,
scared we'll be poor, again...
lying a little while longer...
if tortured souls painted their soles, Basquiat the whole being to never grow old or even...at all.
screamin hands reaching for a morsel of tender heart to feed them...searching for the graffiti stained wall of identity, more than what they make us,
we all have a story,
tragedy breeding thoughts in abstract color or ink blots that spell metaphors,
a heart, a soul all living within spirit. I hear the voices...
the talk of wonder, fondly contemplating that if tortured souls painted their feet that it would create the green of land, the blue of seas and, that maybe god's a tortured soul, too
living life in the whole of you...or of what we know called Basquiat...
of most artist...
of me and every word I spit, every stroke of every brush, every song sung, every everything... is the voice of the One...
you could never know how many nights won the battle,
defeating the light of day, waking us to another night of wanting to change yet fearful they won't love us anyway...and, they won't...
even if you don’t change.
If god is within me, then god is tortured the same.
Most won't understand...
Basquiat the concrete and I'm there...
God is there, too...
with guts and tragedy, talent and heart...all waiting on a fix...willing to change, expressing the relationship between the part and the whole...
in the clouds, in the fluff...in the "of"
not giving a shit...and not judging anyone outside of your own brain but loving from that same place... Our hearts just calculating the beats...
our souls pounding on the concrete: This poem will tell the whole story, or this song will be my crownin glory, or this painting, this one will be my masterpiece...
in each step,
every walk
where you'll hear a young artists' name,
you'll hear your own and mine too,
outlined in chalk...
they will say it loud...like tortured souls do
when they scream for god.
Maimouna Youssef aka "Mumu Fresh" is a Grammy nominated seasoned singer, emcee, songwriter and producer. She received a
Grammy nomination for her contribution on the Roots hit “Don’t Feel Right” in 2007 for best rap song and has since taken off as an independent artist. This is the right place for all things fresh! Welcome to the Muvement!!!...more
supported by 16 fans who also own “*Basquiat The Concrete”
Just a beautiful jazzy rap album with buttery smooth flows versed with huge talent. It's not only lovely to the ears, but the lyrics are profound and empowering about the struggles that she faces. zhangtastic
This English rapper (also a musician, actress and singer) rapid fires high energy rhymes over edgy beats n'soundscapes. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 20, 2014
supported by 11 fans who also own “*Basquiat The Concrete”
I came to find the new release and end up buying this album that I already have most of the songs. Your music is too Good... The best lyricist ever. Thank you 🙏 SinNombre