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Crown Made of Bones 2 by AAway

SongGPT
Crown Made of Bones 2 by AAway - UK Drill music cover art

Crown Made of Bones 2

UK Drill

0:003:16
Lyrics
Description
[Intro – whispered over hi-hats & echo:]
You ain’t gotta know his name to feel him.
You ain’t gotta hang in galleries to hear him.
They sold his fire in a frame.
But he was my brother.
He was yours too.
[Verse 1: The Ghost of Jean-Michel]
Never knew him live, only posthumous buzz,
Now they hangin’ his pain where the champagne was.
Black boy, no clique — too raw for the block,
Too bougie for the streets, too street for the frock.
Didn’t talk slick, didn’t play the part,
But he cut through canvas like a rebel’s heart.
No grammar, no code, just kings and crowns,
Ancestral spirits in blood-red browns.
They ain’t get him, but they got his worth,
Now billionaires bite off his birth.
Said he ain’t that smart — that was the plan,
Easier to loot when you brand a man.
[Hook: Chant – 2x]
🎵 Crown made of bones, gold teeth, rage,
They feed on his fire but ignore the cage.
Sold him to the world but erased his kin,
A Black boy painted, but never let in. 🎵
[Verse 2: Real Talk from the Block]
He ain’t on murals in the bits we roam,
Ain’t no Basquiat print in the council home.
We saw him once, maybe thought he switched,
White rooms, white friends — "another rich bitch."
But dig deep, you find Baldwin’s nerve,
Malcolm’s posture, and every curve
Of a soul too sharp for this world to tame,
So they stuffed his pain in a museum frame.
Warhol watched him, pale prince in chrome,
Madonna at the door, but he died alone.
A lamb for the gala, slaughtered neat,
While the critics feast on ancestral meat.
[Hook – repeat with more rage]
🎵 Crown made of bones, gold teeth, rage,
They feed on his fire but ignore the cage.
Sold him to the world but erased his kin,
A Black boy painted, but never let in. 🎵
[Bridge – spoken over beat break:]
Now they quote him in French…
Hang his skull above fireplace ashtrays…
But where were they when he bled in the loft,
Canvas in hand, and all bridges lost?
[Verse 3: For Your Brother, For All of Us]
So when I look at Basquiat now, I see you,
The brother with poems that no label knew.
The man with a crown but no kingdom built,
Just journals full of trauma and guilt.
He ain’t just paint — he was trying to breathe,
Trying to speak in a tongue they’d leave.
So don’t say he dumb, or slow, or fake —
He just spoke with fire they ain’t want to take.
Better dead for them — more price per piece,
Now they dine on his ghost like a noble feast.
But to us? He’s code. He’s cipher. He’s flame.
My brother, your brother, same blood, same name.
[Outro: Whispered, fading]
So next time they ask,
"Who’s Basquiat to you?"
tell 'em:
"A king...
they killed before we knew."
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