Tuesday, February 10, 2009


The new love of my rap life (you know, my Thug Life) has had quite a life himself. He grew up in a town they lovingly call "The Lake of Blood" during the Solami civil war, but he's no gangsta. "All Somalis know that gangsterism isn't to brag about. The kids that I was growing up with [in Rexdale] would wear baggy [track] suit pants, and a little jacket from Zellers or something, and they'd walk into school, and all the cool kids would be like, 'Ah, man, look at these Somalis. Yo, you're a punk!' And the other kid won't say nothing, but that kid, probably, has killed fifteen people."

He ended up in Canada and speaking no English,  taught himself to rap phonetically. He is an tricky word smith and his subject matter is deep and beautiful, and sometimes his music just makes you "want to swing from the trees like monkeys." He has a new album dropping this month, and I am trying to be patient.  Most of his music from his last album, The Dusty Foot Philosopher, is up on his website, and I've posted the song that hits me with an emotional punch every time I hear it, and am unable to keep still.

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