On the night he died - he was twenty-seven - Basquiat had been planning to see a Run-DMC show. When people asked him what his art was about, he'd hit them with the same three words: "Royalty, heroism, and the streets.

Their gunnin' for me, want to see me fall, you know my story, been through it all, times I felt like dyin', but I ain't cryin', what didn't kill me, makes me strong as iron.

Used to rock a throwback ballin on the corner, now I rock tailored suit lookin' like a owner.

Everything evens up, you just wait, Even a garbage can gets a steak, You ain't even a garbage can, you have faith!

Which is the other reason hip-hop is controversial: People don't bother trying to get it. The problem isn't in the rap or the rapper or the culture. The problem is that so many people don't even know how to listen to the music.

Leave a mark they can't erase, neither space nor time.

Without the work, the magic won’t come.