An artist who draws inspiration from a place of honesty and is faithful to his craft is seemingly difficult to discover in today’s pop culture. However, Jon Hope has managed to galvanize his growing fan base and tastemakers and satisfy listeners with rousing lyrics and creative expression. In 2015, it became evident that Hope’s words resonated with thousands when he released the experiential A Guy Named Harry album. The thirteen track offering found the New England Hip Hop songwriter confronting his bouts with depression, estranged relationships, and stark childhood. The results were triumphant as Hope reeled in critical acclaim, a guest spot on Sway In The Morning, and embarked on a self produced regional tour (Summer of #JHX) that established him as artist to watch in the industry.

Jon Hope was born in Providence, RI and is the son of his West African mother who came to America to secure better opportunities for Hope and his two siblings. The pursuit provided a jagged journey that included foster care, an abandoning father, and sidestepping the pitfalls of public housing as a gifted private school student. Hope’s collection of experiences were a blend of urban disfunction and isolation as a young black man in new spaces afforded by his gifts and talents. Despite his family having no musical lineage, Jon Hope chose writing and his affinity for Hip Hop to channel his thoughts and reactions to his grim surroundings.

His ability with the pen has lead him to sharing stages with Wiz Khalifa and performing at premiere festivals like SXSW as well as studio sessions with J. Cole. Jon Hope has also extended his brand beyond the mic as he published his first book entitled 100 Miles N’ Hour In A Parked Car and showcased his star power as a personality and lecturer. With a never ending desire to create, Jon Hope continues to evolve and mold his pains and joys into musical gifts for all to receive.





What Kind of Art Is This? feat Wynell Wilson


If I advance then the hood say I’m pompouses
I want progresses not novices
And the more I realize I want no parts of this

But the problem is when I conquer this
All I receive is a backhand compliment
I do not fit all the stereotypes of this
They say I speak so well being dark as this

What Kind of Art Is This?
My people classify my speech as Caucasian-ist
I am bothered this was never right with this
‘Cause I work too hard for my offices

My diploma sits so high on my wall
Next to my XXL and trophies from ball
Don’t ever put me inside a box as this
Still that nigga? Or Uncle Thomases


Something tells me that you think you know your shit about me
Cast your judgement I dont give a flying fuck you doubt me
Two lips on my ass (kiss) Two lips on my ass (kiss)
Two lips on my ass (kiss) Two lips on my ass (kiss)

What Kind of Art Is This?
And how I reconcile in my heart with this?
Where do I belong where’s my spot in this?
I wanna see new things and explore my gifts

My suit and tie may only show that I am token
But one simple mistake and I am outspoken
I am done Black man who’s labeled as thug
Please keep your sweeping statements up under this rug

So I ask what kind of art is this?
I respectfully decline all your social scripts
I aint sign up for that role why do they exist?
This smile up on my face doesn’t show I am pissed

Why do I get stares if a white girl that I kiss?
So much more that I can say but I’m hoping you get the gist
American made and built Ford tough
You just color me bad when you paint with a broad brush

Repeat Chorus
This is your box you ain’t goin’ nowhere

Bullet In My Head

What if I told you it was hard?
What if I told you I was in the club praying to God right before the menage
And the friends that I’ve lost enemies that I’ve gained
What if I said my family would’ve caused my pain

I was wild suicidal thoughts preceded my smile
Pearly white teeth black heart I wasn’t that far
From misery oh yeah! I’m lookin’ for company
Alone in a four cornered room the mic is my broom

Where my audience at?
What if I told you record labels said I had horrible raps the most boringest tracks?
My fifteen minutes took ten years
And after each set back I had I cried ten tears I’m all alone

No Blueprint but I had Jay
The darkest nights I was hoping that I had days to celebrate
Y’all see me chillin’ on my iceberg and think I’m major
But if you look a little closer you see my glacier

I count my blessings but just know the ratio
One yes to a million no’s


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