The Curse - Snowgoons, King Magnetic, Reef The Lost Cauze

They say the mind is a terrible thing to waste

So my every rhyme is designed from a spiritual place

Get the time, I’m some kind of a lyrical great

I drink wine from the vines of superior grapes

Why you think I carry the weight?

They got me very irate

I make a classic, it’s a habit how I bury these stakes

You can’t compare me to snakes, I never bite, I never crawl

On the mic I’m something that you never saw, this is raw

Y’all can’t be serious, it’s hilarious

I leaves you bloody like the first man to have a period

Period, I ain’t gotta write no more

But since the beat kinda nice I’m a write some more

Fight your war for what?

Little cash, little cheques?

So when I die you can put a little flag on my chest?

You a fag with a rep, I got shotties for your men

If Obama don’t get the spot, it’s probably not for him

Enough black men do good to only get shot

That’s why I’m good in the hood, I don’t need to get the props

I only need to get these thoughts off my brain

Chopped let Juju Mob in the game

Here comes the storm, get your talking on, sick nature back from the dead

Like the motherfuckers been reading the Necronomicon

When the sick person is talking, I murder the market

I’m a monster, kids trying to see me searching the closets

If incompetent knuckleheads are being slumberers

I’m sick, I kick in a fucking door in and slap em out of pajamses

Y’all fakers believe that I’ve been racing with cheetahs

My face is the thesis to standing tall and my laces Adidas

If I’m unlucky to fuck

I’m sick motherfucker, plague wouldn’t touch me with rubber gloves

Half-steppers stay beneath me, the rap shit’ll never leave me

I’ll bring thunder like Thor swinging his hammer to AC/DC

Fuck you if you think this shit is improper

While I’m lying rappers be pushing their keys thinking they’re hustlers

I’ll show and prove, never do it for paper

maker or move for Snowgoons and the nature, motherfucker

The mob remains, we was just in the shadows

King of kings, Kamachi and Cauze, brother of pharaohs

Cousins of killers, fathers of felons

Don’t like no weed around us, we’ll abolish your section

Got juice?

You willl get bashed to a pulp

Real talk, yeah since the status was cult

Hundred and eighty-seven songs, that ain’t half of my vault

Hell froze, paved my way out on a path made of salt

Me and Mach made of fire, ain’t no patching the torch

Pass out passing the pork, I’ll splatter your thoughts

West Philly where I rep, where my passage was taught

Wilding up the block while grandaddy sat on the porch

Watching the news with his back to the room

I grew up with kids who swam with crack in the womb

Now they selling the same shit, pop’s style on the same strip

Shower you, rhymes powerful as a cage kick

Oh what a tangled web, I leave you maimed and dead

Without a microphone I make you fucking bang your head

My anger’s fed when I get some heat from wax

Gattsburg, woulda been a hit man, just learn to rap first

Used to be a fat jerk, now I’m a skinny one

One man, one gun, I go to war with anyone

You fuck with Juju Mob, that’s asinine

Won’t have to rhyme, nigga we’ll settle this by blasting nines