The Curse Songtext
von Snowgoons feat. King Magnetic, Charon Don, Sicknature & Reef the Lost Cauze
The Curse Songtext
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
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
Writer(s): Terje Rypdal Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
