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Funkmosphere Vol. II


Taking a break from working on the new record to play selecta. This time less 1979, more 2009. A selection of the finest future funk, grimewave, and dancefloor weapons, including tracks by Burns, Phonat, and Duck Sauce.

For the true experience, listen to the beatmixed version here:

13 tracks
6 comments on Funkmosphere Vol. II

"don't make me do that"/
dance sucker. i always think OG you first council, of Parliament. when i see strange inane quotations. but don't blame me that lust never takes the night off, does the champion of the arena ever remove the helm? did the plumes deteriorate over time, is it any wonder i got caught peacocking with borrowed feathers. bird this paradise is nice, but its the only environment i could grow up in, a new zeal when the peals ricochet like raindrops off the canopies of you treetops. taking a break from calculus to flesh out the fundamental theorem. bodies like magnets and new digital devices with batteries that more cost effective in the long run you can recharge. drain the impedance of the circuit you OM, and then volts shock shock/ schlock hot on to the next track and snorting stardust is only possible, rather more probable, on moonless nights in areas with low light pollution. the solution to you ground up attar is a return to form blooming a rose from a bottle of perfume, you smell like my mothers 5th, or the sachet full of white diamonds. and although i talk high grade nonsense its somewhat impolite to leave eau d'toilette on a public board and claim parfum. im sum buffoon with the lust of fingertips tracing keyboards like the hem of the slip rise as its pushed, i admit im this mush mouth wannabe with the knit cap pulled down over the orb rolling your way i use to look (read as: lust) after you. i promise to, i wouldn't do that baby baby baby baby call you some ... ... term endearing if you never can get to the wool from the black sheep shearing bleating my feat warming the colors in fine straight lines intersect swarming up my thighs like a kilt. brothers of the wretched ilk, say bummer, say chiffon when i asked for damask, say i laughed and the test pass/fail you don't know, the result til it gets graded what is it 5 out of 1o or 6 or 7 i forget but sweet judges never decry the unleavened in a loaf contest, loud obnoxious annoying faggot, was my nickname at church camp, so i dropped trousers and wrestled a champion love into a counselors mouth. gagging like a ball, python, squeezing hard an erection like a pylon holding the bridge of your nose together deviate like a septum clogged with lust love like sputum and my mucus you ask and i just come up with something, love like squirt love like liquid love like ichor love like i can get this soda in 44ozs. love like disgusted by the way just 5ounces turns you from polite into an asshole for the rest of the rite. chugging drugs sold over the counter, or passed under the table in the commissary. police this. militant lust, shined up black knee high boots and you cuss, bullshit, peeling the hose down and lust fuck ridiculous. your eyes dream about what my thighs whip cream lusty into a tall peak thusly your eyes roam over the bust see, this /sepulchral statuary is riotous in homage to you delicious swoop and lined up marble body, crush me on the plate, sniff the delicious lust for which you lined up outside the bathroom wait. this is one big city, and that is one long line, this is one big inference, so if you find your pussy swollen put the coke on my dick, and hipster sashay when 'beat jump' leaves you skipping church tomorrow morning like the Lord lied down the cross. and you just know a black man had to pick it up. do not start talking about racy relations. chiaroscuro im so obscure so no panther could maul me like an albino puma. some rumored it to be just another girl, but really she was a jungle princess, and i was in the concrete finesse of sidewalks strolling with a parasol of curbed lust desire. the life you record is the one that rewards you when later on you like it. whats been done whats gone on before in honest syllogism you pour your heart water out like lust on the tomorrow when she roll over and shut you into the bedroom with a vapor lock on your engine of write, my pen is rite?! negative you are not the positive one you are a chili pepper that is just too hot some time, hanging out with the vines and decrying my high hot veins, the mystical plunged passion puts my puerile pedestal fantasy on the just right elevation to shine down purple light on the irradiated landscape of radio reaction ... sheesh. like totally, 'look of lust in your' pupil can dance can dense can drink abstract dot think like pointillist chatter i slather blather as if it were to matter when i grab hands full of you petal and grind. thrash under my pestle, thrash in succulent to the ambition to make you seraphic in a new drape right click left hand mistakes are you keyboarding oratory now or are you looking for something gory, get pierced and leak on the teak because expensive wood shined squeak not unlike linoleum. believe it bitch this is not rich this is trash compacted this is recycled imagery made into a colossal butt nest thrown in the ocean so i can forget about what may or may not come next/ the next one under me the next one under the the next one lustfully/ enters looking for a page break and i've liked this mix for a long time so i'ma just go til duck sauce slathered on your body and you olive skin make it taste like hot mustard disgust me enough like ostrich egg custard is too gamy and make you say jeez no more of this please, because although you horny thats no halo and you have no forked tongue you swallowing the emission from your forked tail hung backsliding into the awful habit to everywhere see inspiration type magick thats like the crow swallows you in malefic assurance that a deity asserts the, penance, be damned, be justice, be melted in my mouth like eminem i am no contemporary of them real artisans put i wring the water from the cheese and suck the toejams and eat the funk from watching your knees in lust bent take your body low/ shit now im just being mean build one theme, play with it in purple light. the pupae dreams of wings that iridescent beam 4oonm i mean nevermind becoming hotter in the sun see it indigo i dig so deep under the purple perennials preferential to the way rich topsoil look almost like, and the color of hot lava might if the texture of minerals... become geode, i don't know what the fuck i mean quartz or quit hard on robes dyed in squid ink the royal color of which you impossible iris drink, i can't see the way you think in an aural way, the stimulation of love means what today, can not become unshackled without a key, im all locked up with investments in the way you read to me of blues musicians with dreams of interpolating the fiction and the biographic, the funky asthmatic panting hard with the inhaler hoping a vein open wider than an artery im sorry i started the, cross pollination between these two irreducible hues, marooned on this cerulean ship my love like a pigment cyan on two pink lips, crushed up in the way love of light slips from the back of the canvas satin deluxe red underwear rolling on blue sheets, i wrapped up in the way dyslexics drink blue wine under a red moon, stop loom weaving the tapestry of i just know this color will come back to me, but/ its impossible! yes! to become, read again without going through the indigo blue green yellow Oh you rage me so good you fucked up blue (p)roses