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about

A song with no hook.
The medicine that is making music.

A reflection on gentrification.
Time travel.
Cyclical oppression.
And making music.

lyrics

VERSE 1
searching for the perfect snare
to make the dopest instrumental
grew up modest
now I got a piss pot and a window
plain clothes
good indo
no purse to snatch
no intentional walk down
streets that blacks
not lit up
Yo, these people are my kinfolks
taking neighborly advice
from a man that rolls that dice
everyday
taking chances, advances
is it slow to me
he thinks
I’m moving twice as fast
cus I'm nice when I grab the mic
30 years ago
this used to be the central
so I listen when I have the time to pass
long body
white walls
music bumpin to a tempo
deep bass
I see faces like mine
and money moving through these hands
that built these roads
and etched somebody else's story
into the signs and temples
when we get to make our own beats
get to make and own these streets
the roads that we walk
tip our hat off to the misses
and the elders when they pass
sample stories from grandma's dreams
broken glass and dirty dishes
lets go




VERSE 2

I think about my mother's hands
when I stir cheese grits
flip pancakes as big as the skillet
everytime I freestyle, I will the stories
of 7 generations
ask me how I spill it
they try to kill Black voices
and call this gift an illness
the people make a choice to feel it
this is the pill they charge you for
cause Black trauma slaps
cracks like the whip on Tobe's back
a drama to record
watch it with the family
Roots
It's the same as the news
insurrections
the change is coming slow for people that
look like you
and the charges they don't add up
so I stay Grounded with a
direct electrical connection
find an 808 and move my
pen in that direction
take a breathe and
speak with some intention
truth
when your body is showing up
and your head is unscrewed
the best medicine is right
back up in the booth
I used to dream of having my own mic
but now's there’s no excuse
got the pedals in my hand
these are all my notes and grooves
stay soulful

VERSE 3
Good ol days
when was that
Asking me to go back in time
messin up what I know Doc Brown would be against
fucking with time
wasted
capitalism
asks you to be patient
to breathe while they standing on your neck
but you're asking for your check and you worked last week
and you grew up on this block
and 30 years layer yo, you look mad suspicious
during through and testing out the old root
like you casing out the riches
if you knock on the door to have a moment in the bedroom
where you made your first childhood wishes
will you leave wit your face on the concrete
swinging from a tree that you planted
they'll call you crazy
say you look far from home
and you need to leave the premises
i wonder if grandma's refrigerator still running in the basement
or if they got rid of it
built to last.
i take you on a tour
over a river and through the wood, uh
where I lost my innocence
where I ran the bases
hit home runs
shit was mad ridiculous
lifeguards, before my burdens
were these middle aged bills
I wanted so badly to get rid of it
my childhood
I'm missin it.

credits

from Queer Core: Behind the Music, released November 27, 2020
Produced by QueenEarth
Bass, Keys, Drums - QueenEarth

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QueenEarth Baltimore, Maryland

QueenEarth is an acoustic singer/songwriter and emcee. She shares her music through events for social justice and community education. Her showcase, QueerCore: Behind the Music, was created to make safe space and feature stories of LGBT heroes, audiences, and allies. ... more

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