Stilo Mexico Redux

Working hard, 3, 4, 5 jobs
that’s stilo mexico
People ask me if I nine trey gang bang
I’m gonna have to say no
I’m a cholo 2.0
I’m a thug life Ross Perot
I’m a Duke Nukem soldier
anti-partisan when I vote
Get it out of my throat
Make a cake a go smoke
Making music, playing FIFA
making money is my goal
Back it up no tough no grind
Back it up no poke no sign
Back it up no pay no mind
thoughts awake and chains aside

Stilo Mexico, thats how I get all my dough x2
Victamized, that shit no mas
Reconize that shit allright

Ho slip, no shit
bullshit, I’m spitting straight from the hip
I’m supersized larger than life
Get it good on point no knife
I’m hella sharp, ballet dancing
Plie on your face and smack it
hella fire no platinum package
I’m on the bus,
king of rappin
that’s wassup you know my name
no alias, just bold and plain
formally known as FBG
But I studied hard to write symphonies
All you know you can’t mess with this
Take a picture and have sex with this
Record execs perplexed with this
Independent and blessed with this
Book knowledge, street knowledge
MCdees to music college

Call me Mr. Ill
cuz I don’t need no record deal
I’m hella cholo, I’ll say what I want
wear what I got when I want
My Mexicaness si se puede
Yes we can shit didn’t change it
Same ol thang, different day
don’t con me dude, no naci buey
I’m hella tough, I don’t back down
pick your own fruit from the ground
I’m tired of people talking shit of
hard working immigrants
Build your wall as high as you want
and clean your own smelly bathroom stalls
I came up, I ain’t playing
I’m hella truth, I ain’t playing

Renaissance Ninja

Bang, bang, allright
I’m wassup its my time to go bat
I’ma have to jack your crew
solo style with my flow and prove
that oohh yeah judo chop in this mothafucker
block in this mothafucker, pop and a damn
black belt and so fresh
my style so James Bond and coquet
I’m James Brown soul and cold and so def
flow ala B.G. gets you so wet
How you gonna drop me?
stop beats like these
on 3, lets see, I be
honestly the track trap on
wobblin basses and rappin
whatever its crackin’
A Live its on, survivor zone,
the drivers zone, the microphone
the drive is on – uhh

Back for the second set
my spaceship beats gonna make you sweat
I swoop on the popular
poppin’ ya, dropin’ ya
locking both arms with king tut palms
I windmill ninjitsu on call
akuma ragin demon yall?
I’m hip hopin in the locker hall
Ain’t flippin the flip flop
politican lollipop
tapatio ’til I drop
Beans, rice, cheese overseas
cuz I’ll take you to the taco shop
that’s wassup, rap it up
and smack it up and laugh it up
cuz my vernculating cunning rhymes is so fly
guess why?
Jeet Kune Do, that’s how I flow
write shit down my formless flo
uber oozes like TMNT
I’m a renaissance ninja
I thought you knew

Post Picasso prose awakes comatose
It don’t stop cuz that’s the hip hop
Over saturation on top chains us down to platinum
and slaves us down to bland flock
What have you done for me lately but
remind me of how shiny and pricy your icy life be
forget the lime light fortified by frost bite
some how wealth equals sex equals money, power, and respect?
How can life be like chasing illusions of gain
perpetuating pain on top of a pyramid game
only for selfishness?
How can we raise a generation without questioning
the tools that we’re slippin’ in our pockets
are preventing the potential to realize never dying diviness?
I think I am, I am I think
I question life and wisdom seek

Dirt Ass Broke

I’m dirt ass broke x3
I’m dirt ass broke baby

I got no money, I got no benz
I dont’even have 5 bucks to go to Starbucks with my friends
My checking account is low, so the bank charges me a fee
I can’t pay it on time, so they charge me another fee
It overdrafts, so I got another fee
but when it happens to the banks,
they get bailed out for free
this shit aint fare,
but that’s the price for freedom
when someone tells the truth
they shuffle down and delete ’em

I got nothing to loose
I’m so in over my head
I wouldn’t even want that jewelry noose
shining around my neck
They say get a job
but I already done did
that minimum wage is
helping me out shit
So I switched that job
and started making them tips
but it only came out
to 80 bucks a shift
I thought I’d make music
I’m sick on the microphone
but what you don’t know is
I’m hundred K in student loans

Everywhere I go
I’m on a hamster wheel
the more debt I owe
the more I don’t have to deal
with those hard ass facts
that hard ass truth
I’m on the verge of being homeless
I got nothing to loose
Everybody knows real money comes from drugs
how many white collar business
are in the business of drugs
and the CIA?
They’re probably in it too
they got wars overseas
and wars under our noses too

Beans Rice Overseas

Beans, Rice Overseas
805 to the Japanese

I’ve been writing rhymes since jr. high
I’ve been beat boxing since I was nine
I was playing drums since I was five
playing keys from time to time
I’m repping down town Santa Barbara
making beats to stay alive
that beats so coo coo
I’m done paying dues
so the flo is do-do-do
and they loving what I do
I got yummy sound so cholo
space beats han solo
hunnies take my photo
Milk chololate mofo

Locofied that bass just shakes
that 808’s gonna make that bank
I’m pouring tequilla, two margaritas
thank you Madonna, Isla Bonita
Tropical chocolate shakes
that kalua and rum is gonna make that taste
9-5 sippin straws ‘ery day
another tequilla, another chaquita
I’m flowing bologna, you know the script
make them hits and cash it quick
I’m flowing bologna, you know the script
make them hits and cash it quick
I’m hella dough
I’m hella dough

I’ve been writing rhymes since jr. high
I was battle rappin at San Marcos High
I’ve studying music getting degrees
sbcc, ucsb
minimum wage, yeah that was me
know I’m at Cal Arts loosing my mind
Darth Vader that vibe,
Homie still ghost riding that ride
you know I’ll tip toe, you know and flow
and kamasutra that rhyme -uhh
get on up and shake that shit
hurry up and make me rich
sexify that beat go get
recognize and make it hit

Sexy Sexy Chola Queen

 

And I swear,
That miniskirts, got me thinking I don’t give a fuck
I’m gonna spit that greezy game around and test my luck
I’ll smile for you baby
then I’ll bounce and duck, I’m gonna dip for real yeah

And I swear I
I’m gonna spit that juicy game, cuz I don’t give a fuck
I’m gonna sweep that honey off her feet and go nuts
I’m gonna win for real baby
hope she’s down to ride
cuz I’m a bad mother fucking cholo

Sexy cholo
cuz I’m a bad one
Sexy chola
Cuz I’m a get one

Cuz get it good, get it right
she can do it all night
she’s a sexy sexy chola queen

Lodi Dodi doo
I’m a addicted to you
but you’ll never know
cuz i’m mister super cool
I love tights, I love heels
I love woman dressed to kill
I love love, I love love
I love love, I love loving baby
hold me down,
I’m going get feel you up and down
I’m going make you run around my little finger
round and round
don’t sweat it girl
what you got
I’m going make you mad and hot
I’ll intimidate you, pounce and stop
I’ll invigirate you with laughs and plots and thoughts of twisted
voyeristic missions of submission
hand cuffed by venutian love
can you handle it?
melted candlesticks, sense of passioness, ambience, crimson fabricness, ooohhh
words are my toy thang
I’m your boy thang
I’ll make your toes curl and your voice sang
plus I’m hoping i’ll keep you joking
I’ll push you good til groping,
provoking intellectual groping
and pinot noir toasting
I’m coasting, I’m invoking love baby
get it good, love baby get it good
love baby get it good

good thang,
She’s a good, she’s a good, she’s a good thang

Soulfully twisted
Martinis explicit
the ladies they talking,
I’m smiling, I listen
I’m vicious, precocious,
mitosis, atrocious
unruly ferocious
marooned in oceans of love potions baby
Get it girl, let’s go get it
jacuzzi, wine and fine linens
gourmet buffet cuisine pimpin
leather sofas and incense
I’m so sickness, show me love with the quickness
all business, on the 405 slippery slickness,
merry christmas, unwrappin rappin for the woman
Roscoe’s waffles and chicken with no morning sickness baby

I’m on Fire

Sex pose
Strip tease
Give me sex, sex, sex
Uh huh uh huh

Beans, rice, enchiladas
margaritas with my momma
don’t tell me to not hot sauce
strike a pose bitch – i’m a boss
I get stupid, I get drunk
get the munchies with good skunk
I see London, I see France
Bitch, stop staring at my ass
get it, forget about the edible face talk, sweet twitterness
and variatal grapes
A simpleton haste in a simpleton place
so many toys I’ll make a simpleton break
I’m a Jungle lova – keep a secret
somebody screamin, doors locked
somebody strugglin, wigglin, bleeding
never will the cops find em breathing
just somebody hanging and pleadin
i’ll go ahead and repeat it
I’m on fire

Get it, get it, get it – good
I’m soo mis understood
I see London, I see France
and your still staring – at my ass
I told you once and I told you twice
I’m so bitch miss naughty nice
If you want it, I’ll give you some
make you cross-eyed, purr and hum
Nasty boys say “what it do”
limpy nerdy boys don’t have a clue
get it, get it, do it
slip a twenty to do it do it
a slippery conduit
a wrap on, mister creepy
I’ve been drinking, i’m so freaky
I’m like shake it, shake it, shake it cum
I’m shape shift sticking like Shang Tsung

Kimchi Burrito

Kimchi burrito!
It’s spicy, and tasty

Bitch don’t touch that taco
Bitch don’t touch my taco

Oooh my taco
Bitch don’t touch my taco
Bitch don’t touch that taco

I’m crazy, people think that I’m on crack
amazing when they hear me switch that rap
I’m blazing canabil cannibus crap
don’t faze me
I’m vogue-ing in the 90’s back
I’m boss – slap a homie
see i’m pissed and I’m pissed drunk with tacos and
and he forgets my sauce
I dont tip that
I keep sipping my booze
I’m gonna tap that, and liven up my food
have you heard of it
kimchi soul
It’s all I dream about
soju soul
I go tip top shape into the bbq don’t stop
I drip and dribble drabble
I live that
I’m loving all I eat
cuz the booze don’t stop and the bulgogi’s double dipped
I’m done yeah
I’m drunk and hella food
I’m gonna drink some mas with the homies in the crew

My Baby Knows Karate

My baby kicks ass
High heels on the chopin’ block
Her sexy lovin’ just wont stop
She yogas and she looks real hot
Bulgogi
(Ooh yeah)
When she’s mad she’s hot
(Ooh yeah)
I’m horny
(Ooh yeah)
My baby knows karate
My baby knows karateeee
Cuz when she’s cool, she’s smooth and dude
She buys me lot’s of nice stuff
(nani?)
yeah
 
 
My baby kicks ass
She mini-skirts and cleans and cooks
She’s always getting smiles and looks
She’s super smart and reads things called ‘books’
Bulgogi
(Ooh yeah)
all my homies by like
(Ooh yeah)
more soju
(Ooh yeah)
 
Cuz when she’s cool, she’s smooth and dude
She buys me lot’s of nice stuff
(nani?)
 

chorus:
shake it cholo bounce

Semper fie my love baby
cum laude my cum baby
everytime i see you round the
butterflies go dumb
you make me wanna hakuna matata this thug baby
flash a westside and make love baby
I’m a tie you up in the back of my trunk
we’ll have fun in can cun and kiss rum
I know you wanna touch
I know you wanna kiss
I know you wanna go to France and get rich
I know you wanna sing
I know you wanna dance
I know you want confident romance baby
get on up and get yo man baby
on the flo and let go baby
give it up with sexy strut
go strike a pose thats whats up baby

Life After CalArts

It was 3:57pm, May 2nd on a Saturday afternoon, when my phone rang from a familiar number. Cal Arts was calling, what the fuck did they want? Sure enough the cute little Asian girl voice made her sales spiel. “Hi its blablabla and I’m a blablabla student from Cal Arts, we wanted to keep in touch and raise money for the school.”

Me “Yeah sorry I don’t have money to contribute right now”    Her, “ooooohhhh oook… can we get your contact information”     Me “Uh.. yeah…. I’m ok thäaaánks”  -click-

Its not the cute little Asian girl’s fault, but God Damn, that school cost me $100,000 to attend grad school, and I’m on the “defer the $130,000 payment plan” expecting to wait it out until WW3 hits, or when the San Andreas Fault makes me homeless.

The following is the true life saga, the one year anniversary, the directors cut of…Life After Cal Arts by Gustavo Adolfo Uribe

The day after graduation, my friends and I were throwing as much shit as we could into a card box from my card-board-box sized dorm room in C-4 Ahmanson. I had a 3pm deadline to get the fuck out of there, turn in my keys, and start my life as a broke artist. I stayed at my Momma’s House living room for two weeks and returned in glory to my friend’s sublet room 2 miles away from Cal Arts. I was determined to finish my music album, find a job, buy a car and make it in LA once and for all.

After blowing off most of my summer fund on groceries and booze, and not getting the Music Counselor Job at Cal Arts, I realized I had an extremely difficult 2-month time line ahead. My days went like this: Wake up, drink coffee, apply to 30 jobs, drink booze, go to the hot tub, sleep, apply to 30 more jobs, drink, eat ‘cholo chow-mein’ (my infamous $2-a-day spicy ching-chang fettuccini recipe), drink, drink, drink, apply to 1 more job and then call it a day. Yes, I finally inserted some music album work in there, but this went on for about a month when I finally hit some job leads.

My first job lead was not doable because I lived in Valencia without a car. It was a music engineer position to edit voice over stuff, but I could not get there by 8:30am by bus-train-bus. However, I decided I would wake up even earlier and make it no- matter-what. I got another job lead for a ‘music research specialist’, (a fancy way of saying the guy who tracks what songs that are in what show for $12/hr in the Woodland Hills). I had to write a fucking essay about who and why my favorite music artist was, plus a phone interview to get the actual in person interview. I put on my tie and managed to bus-train-bus-walk my 3-hour-journey to the interview and not get the job. If I had a car the trip would have taken me 45 min, but fuck, what are you going to do? I had another job lead for a financial aid counselor for Art Institute of California in Santa Monica. I took another 3-4 hour journey and I spent the day with my friend. We drank and watched Planet of the Apes and went to Wendy’s. Wendy’s had this awesome new Peppercorn Cheeseburger for $1.50 and it made the not-getting-the-job field trip, so much better.

Surprisingly, the Woodland Hills Music Research place called again and said they had another opportunity. Ok, so I went back to get interviewed with two different people and again did not get the $12/hr job with a fucking music composition Masters in Fine Arts. I called my parents almost every week begging for money so I can eat and buy more booze. It was so depressed of spending all of my $1200 summer money and being broker then how I was when I graduated. I even applied for about a thousand jobs including car wash washer, Beverly Hills Cop, academic counselor, web designer, social media dude…

When I ran out of my money, booze and my dignity, I had to make that fateful phone call… There was a living room waiting for me and it was time to come home.

“The Summer of Tub Life” had come to a close and I was doing the same shit in Santa Barbara. Drink; apply for jobs, drink, apply for more jobs. I was so exhausted, but my friend mentioned I should sign up for a temp agency. I had joined a temp agency about 10 years before and got warehouse work, so I was a little hesitant. My other friend living in Irvine said that he got a job with a temp agency and his other friend at the same temp agency got a job for $26/hr doing some computer shit. I joined the temp agency and started to put on that fucking tie again.

I got a job as a phone receptionist for a week; the job offered on the spot and was $15/hr in downtown Santa Barbara. I thought I hit the jackpot and wanted to FedEx a package of my shit to that place in Woodland Hills, but the happy hour celebrations were short lived. I started on a Monday and got fired on that Friday. The crazy thing was, during that week on a Thursday, I wrote an email to a video production company in town and asked them to be an intern on a gut feeling.

I got the email back on Saturday and started my video production internship the next Monday at Dajen Productions. Dave was really nice and our first gig was shooting a beauty product commercial 45min towards LA. Awesome! I even go to help out during a live American Idolesque singing competition, Star Voice, at the Chumash Casino. I had my own free room, free booze and everything.

I was living the fucking good life, but I was still broke. I needed a car and I needed money to pay for it. Luckily, my paycheck came in from the temp job and I had a check receipt proving I was employed. I went to the Toyota dealership, and walked out that day leasing a brand new Prius C, full coverage insurance for about $550 a month. Most people would think I’m crazy, but keep in mind that I was unemployed, broke, and my credit beyond shit. I managed to get a deal on their promotion that allowed me to not have to pay a down payment and have a free month. So basically, I had one month to make the next month’s payment while living rent-free on my Momma’s one-bedroom-apartment living room floor.

I met Jim Cutsinger, a local live music concert producer and musician through the internship at Dajen Productions. He offered me a paid music internship where I would help mix the music from the live concert footage of a concert DVD he was working on. I was technically making the payments on the car while not working 8-5 temping. I managed a good two months but he was going to go on a month vacation in January and I was going to be a financial-fish-out-of-water.

Back to the temp game. I signed up to two more temp agencies and got a week assignment working as a receptionist at the UCSB Study Abroad Center for $12/hr. I did a phone interview for Sientra (which makes boobs), and I did lunch interview on Thursday at Bega (which makes fancy lights), and got hired to start Monday. I was on cloud nine, finally an $18/hr job to help me move out my Momma’s house. I trained on the job on a Monday, was doing real orders by Wednesday, and got the dreaded email from the temp agency by Friday. “Gustavo, don’t talk to anyone, go outside and call me”. I got unexpectedly fired, but they had another job to start at Citrix for $17.50 next Monday.

By this time my head was like fuck, but the training was supposed to last at least a week, and that meant that I could make a car payment for next month and buy some more booze at Costco. (By the way, I signed up for Amex card through Costco and got a $1200 credit card. I immediately bought a $600 Vitamix blender and 6 big bottles of fine merry mixing spirits. Michael Jackson – This Is IT) By this time I had started at Citrix, I had re-enrolled in Santa Barbara City College and got a free bucket of classes to start my Marketing Associates Degree goal. (I enrolled while I was in between jobs and technically unemployed, so I qualified for the government waiver-score!)

Citrix was fucking awesome and I pimped out my open-spaced, adjustable desk height, yoga-ball-chair cubicle, feng shui style with a bonsai tree and everything. Anyways, I thought that if I could work at Citrix and get a marketing associates degree, I could probably get into the marketing department and start fishing for a big-fish marketing job. Three months into working at Citrix as a Tech Support Specialist, I realized that if I had to listen to another caller bitching about why this-and-that didn’t work and how we cost them thousands of dollars of business, I was going to blow my fucking head off and be ok with it. They re-organized the call center, so instead of chilling with the homies in the feng-shui open cubicle, I was getting death threats in the Game of Thrones, 6x6x6 castle cubicle with no homie in sight. I couldn’t sleep at night and I had to email the temp agency so they could send a knight-in-shining-lowrider to rescue me.

And then I got the email… “Gustavo, can you interview tomorrow on Friday at the Santa Barbara Independent?” WTF? The local newspaper that I was reading since before I knew how to read, had a job interview???? Hell yeah, I put on my fucking tie for the 100th time and raced over there in my clean car-washed, vanilla scented Prius during my lunch break. By the time I finished the day at Citrix, I quit and started working at the Independent next Monday morning. They liked that bit in my resume where I mentioned that I was pursuing my marketing degree at SBCC.

I got hired to be an office administrative, accounting assistant, but by the second week’s Wednesday’s Creative/Birthday Meeting, the publisher says “Oh yea this is Gustavo, he’s new, but he’s got a masters degree in music composition from Cal Arts.” He turns to Arts Executive Editor sitting right next to him, “Maybe he could right for us?” I almost spilled my birthday celebration beer and shit myself. The Arts Executive Editor looks at me and said, “yeah, I got some stuff coming next week, I’ll send you the email”. I think I did shit myself, but I didn’t tell anybody. By the next couple of weeks I did two classical music reviews and a phone interview. I got my first music review published online on April 30th, 2015, fifteen days shy of my graduation date.

Gustavo Adolfo Uribe is now employed, has a car, has just bought 5K worth of audio and video equipment. He will move out of his Momma’s house by the end of June, release his debut album Cholo 2.0, and film his first music video by September 2015.

Break out the Champagne Bitches!!!

lifeaftercalarts