Brown Sugar Concrete

rap, Live-band East Coast hip-hop with jazz-funk and acid-jazz colors; male vocals, hoarse and soulful, Warm Rhodes and clean-but-gritty guitar riffs over swung drums and round 808 low end, Verses start with fast, percussive country-rap cadences, then open into melodic soul hooks with stacked soft harmonies and scatted ad-libs, Horn stabs and vocal jazz flourishes lift the choruses; crowd-in-the-room ambience and subtle tape grit glue it together, soul, soft, hip hop, east coast hip hop, country, vocal jazz, jazz, funk

[Intro]
Brown sugar concrete
Red clay in my jeans
Two-lane road in my heartbeat
Big city in my dreams (yeah)

[Verse 1]
Came up
Mud on my lace-up boots
Mama fried chicken in the Sunday suit
Church fan waving, choir on fire
I was scribbling bars on a tractor tire
Now I’m
Front row mic with a crooked cap
Drawl in my jaw, but I spit that crack
Fast talk
Backroad slang in the city smoke
Turnt that pain into dirty jokes
Uncle said
“Boy, that twang ain’t built for fame”
Now it’s sold-out nights when they chant my name
From porch light moths to the club marquees
Same old soul, just bigger keys (woo)

[Chorus]
I’m that brown sugar concrete
Country boy walking on a boom-bap beat
Got that red clay soul in a northside street
Make the back row holler when the hook repeat
I’m that brown sugar concrete
Hoarse voice, hurt joy, both on key
From the cornfield wind to the subway heat
You can hear where I’m from when I breathe that beat (yeah, yeah)

[Verse 2]
Fast rap
Tongue like a broke-down train
Still I stay on track through the smoke and rain
Cousin in the pen, he be callin’ collect
Told me “Live loud, don’t you die in regret”
So I
Stack these words like tobacco bales
Slide on the rhythm like a river on rails
Little bit of dirt in the gospel hum
Halo crooked, but the job get done
Got a
Steel guitar in my chest that bends
When the note too high, that’s where truth begins
I don’t run from the crack in my tone
That’s the front porch gravel I carried from home (yeah)

[Bridge]
[Band drops to bass and snaps]
Gravel in my laugh, satin in my runs (oh)
Sinner when I talk, preacher when it’s sung
Hayfield halo, ragtop roll
Dirty little story with a diamond soul

2350/7500

[Intro] Brown sugar concrete Red clay in my jeans Two-lane road in my heartbeat Big city in my dreams (yeah) [Verse 1] Came up Mud on my lace-up boots Mama fried chicken in the Sunday suit Church fan waving, choir on fire I was scribbling bars on a tractor tire Now I’m Front row mic with a crooked cap Drawl in my jaw, but I spit that crack Fast talk Backroad slang in the city smoke Turnt that pain into dirty jokes Uncle said “Boy, that twang ain’t built for fame” Now it’s sold-out nights when they chant my name From porch light moths to the club marquees Same old soul, just bigger keys (woo) [Chorus] I’m that brown sugar concrete Country boy walking on a boom-bap beat Got that red clay soul in a northside street Make the back row holler when the hook repeat I’m that brown sugar concrete Hoarse voice, hurt joy, both on key From the cornfield wind to the subway heat You can hear where I’m from when I breathe that beat (yeah, yeah) [Verse 2] Fast rap Tongue like a broke-down train Still I stay on track through the smoke and rain Cousin in the pen, he be callin’ collect Told me “Live loud, don’t you die in regret” So I Stack these words like tobacco bales Slide on the rhythm like a river on rails Little bit of dirt in the gospel hum Halo crooked, but the job get done Got a Steel guitar in my chest that bends When the note too high, that’s where truth begins I don’t run from the crack in my tone That’s the front porch gravel I carried from home (yeah) [Chorus] I’m that brown sugar concrete Country boy walking on a boom-bap beat Got that red clay soul in a northside street Make the back row holler when the hook repeat I’m that brown sugar concrete Hoarse voice, hurt joy, both on key From the cornfield wind to the subway heat You can hear where I’m from when I breathe that beat [Bridge] [Band drops to bass and snaps] Gravel in my laugh, satin in my runs (oh) Sinner when I talk, preacher when it’s sung Hayfield halo, ragtop roll Dirty little story with a diamond soul [Chorus] I’m that brown sugar concrete Country boy walking on a boom-bap beat Got that red clay soul in a northside street Make the back row holler when the hook repeat I’m that brown sugar concrete Hoarse voice, hurt joy, both on key From the cornfield wind to the subway heat You can hear where I’m from when I breathe that beat (breathe that beat)

0/500