I wasn’t at Art Basel.
I wasn’t at Art Basel
And I genuinely don’t even know
When that shit even is;
I’m trying to fly to Miami
For pool parties and socialites
Like I’m trying to
Sell my fucking soul (?).
I don’t know when that shit is,
But if I could make money from art
I wouldn’t be flying to Art Basel
To do it with thirsty
Clout vultures and rich kids,
I’d be trying to pay my Photoshop
Subscription, buzzing at 3am
Like a fucking drunk ex.
I wasn’t at Art Basel;
I couldn’t even afford the plane fare,
A round of drinks even;
It’s just an elitist circle-jerk,
I’ve seen the photos, the prices—
Maybe I’m just bitter,
That I wasn’t at Art Basel,
But I’m honestly not sure I’d go
Half-way ‘round the world to
To party with gaudy art and Instahoes.