texts | entrancethrough

Caveman Rap

Caveman Rap, it's the oldest app.

Filling the gap, art evolves in a snap.

Wildlife burst deep in the dark cave of our souls,

Magic fraction of pure abstraction, with no remote control

Caveman Rap, it's the oldest app.

Filling the gap, art evolves in a snap.

FutureGrade

Futuregrade, it’s a tricky trade.

The metric expansion of space, far away from home base

15 seconds of fame burning down in 8 bit flames.

Will I ever get paid?

Will my work be recognized?

Or is it just gona fade?

The metric expansion of space, far away from home base

15 picoseconds of fame, burning down in 8 bit flames.

Express Yourself

Express yourself with paint,

Easing the pain, debugging the brain.

Express yourself with tone, down to the bone.

Express yourself with rhymes, its' all nickels and dimes.

Get on your feet and express yourself with a beat.

Juvenile delinquency, express yourself with frequency.

Cutting edges and hard core,

Express yourself with a projector.

Drum & base

Text by Zvuloon Dub System & Yoav Ruda

African drums, playing sound from creation.

Relieving my mind into a deep meditation,

Spread out of Africa, all over the nation-

Telling the story of the first civilization.

African drums, playing sound from creation,

Waking me up, return to foundation.

Drum & base, the heartbeat of the human race.

Dance lady dance, the African chance trance-

It’s the sound of mother earth, giving birth.

Wiki cult art expo fair

Welcome to the global wiki cult art expo fair.

An infinite info in a motion blur.

Please refer, just click and share.

But doe's somebody really care,

For just another lonely broken heart, torn apart by contemporary art, longing for a fresh start?

The bumpy road to the top

I remember when we used to rock,

It was 1950's future shock.

Zimmerman's talk was a real knock,

Bill, Sid & the Doc still hanging around the clock...

I remember when we used to bop,

It was 1940's heavy dope.

The bird was diving through the sharp slope,

But the beat maintained a rusty hope.

I remember when we used to pop,

It was 1960's exit through the gift shop.

A can of soup, a wish, a plop,

Stencils & spray, cut & crop.

I remember when we used to funk,

1970's Cosmic Slop ain't no junk,

Jumping jive boots and star glasses dunk,

Space is the place for future skunk.

I remember when we used to hop,

It was 1980's beatbox bop.

Player raises a hundred dollars on the flop,

It's a long & bumpy road to the top.

Better out than about

It feels good to take a break outside, have a drag, get some fresh air, go for a ride...It's really nice outside when your hand is stamped with a VIP card; you just slide with the tide.

Better out than about, the benefit of the doubt

Fame, the hype, the small talk, the rules of the game, there are lots of pretty girls inside, good liqueur, and great sounds.

Here it can get lonely and cold, the selector is a bitch, and the motherfucker bouncer ain't gona fold. No chance to get a glance. & there you are, hanging out with us, that's pretty cool, so why do I feel like Aprils fool?

Better out than about, the benefit of the doubt

When you're heading back in, I think I'll go for a spin. You just say to the bouncer 'he's with me, has always been'. And if it doesn't work, just take a stake, open emergency exit for one beat, give me a break, I will definitely fit. Better out then about is a sure hit.

Brick Lane stencil

Brick Lane stencil, don't just stand still.

When communication is ill, got no time for a cheap thrill.

Brick Lane, Simple and plain,

Resolving the pain-

Good old Brick Lane.

Disposable clips, a slight chance to glance.

Disposable piece, a special release.

Space and time spec, tomorrow the work will be a wreck.

Brick Lane stencil, don't just stand still.

Readymade is dead!

Three Young British Artists meet in a pub, sounds like a beginning of a joke, well, it's not. It's a new art movement hub. Is that seat taken? Welcome to the club.

Tracey Emin is still in bed, the memory of the first night will never fade.

Fake blood ain't simply red,

A tag on the wall reads:

Readymade is dead!

It's Sharky's night tonight,

So turn on the glittering neon light.

A fire is raging in the patron's stock,

Burning down priceless art up in smoke, a hell of a shock.

Tracey Emin is still in bed, the memory of the first night will never fade.

Fake blood ain't simply red,

A market maker bids:

Readymade is dead!