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The Curse (Snowgoons)

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