The Curse

The 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

How you think I carry the weight? They got me very irate

I make a classic, it's a habit how I bury these fakes

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

On the mic I'm somethin' that you never saw, this is raw

Y'all can't be serious? These jams is hilarious

I leave 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'mma write some more

Fight your war for what? Little cash, little checks?

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 in and slain, let JuJu Mob in the game!

Write another verse and send another curse

Here comes the storm, get your talking on, Sicknature's

Back from the dead like 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 the fucking door and slap 'em out of pajamases

Y'all fakers believe that I've been racing on cheetahs

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

From unlucky to fuckin' up, now sucka, buckle up

I'm sick motherfucka, plague wouldn't touch me with rubber gloves

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

I bring thunder like Thor and swinging this hammer to AC/DC

Fuck you if you think this shit is improper

While I'm lying rappers be pushin' keys thinkin' they're hustlers

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

Leave the cake you want to your maker

Or move for Snowgoons and The Nature, motherfucka!

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 no light no weed around us, we'll abolish your section

You got juice? You will get bashed to a pulp

Real talk, years since the status was caught

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 passin' the torch

You pass, I'll be passin' the pork, I'll splatter your thoughts

West Philly where I rep, where my passage was taught

Wildin' up the block while grandaddy sat on the porch

Watchin' the news with his back to the room

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

Now they're sellin' the same shit, pops died on the same strip

Shower your rhymes, powerful as the gauge kick

Or with a tangled web, I leave you maimed and dead

Without a microphone I make you fuckin' bang your head

My anger's fed when I get some heat from Waxwork

The gat burst, would have been a hitman just learned 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

We don't have to rhyme, nigga, we'll settle this by blasting nines