Jamal J. - The Book of Enoch Speaks of Spiritual Warfare

Sim, simmer, simmer down my nigga
Slow your roll, who told you we top of the totem pole
Who's misinforming the masses depriving us of the nourishment for our body and soul
Encouragement ain't enough, you should want it for you alone
Go and get it you gone
A don donning the garments of hoteps, from afrocentrist ancestors leaving us messages
Purest form of the peace that we seek is seen where the Mecca is
Never been one to Hyde in corruption, but niggas Jekyllish
So if you choose to refuse to listen then put some pep in your stepping
Any second another wave of these steppers is spinning back with intentions of splitting your melon
So make your killing my nigga and take your food back to the deli
She performing without the lube be back in a jiffy
Now it's back to the basics
Hold this mic like a semi automatic weapons in my parka, it's for protection
My thoughts tend to get darker just pass me the method
In the smoke of this cannabis I can see your perspective
In a room full of mirrors, I was searching for exits
Went right to the booth, laid down the truth and then left it
I'm still tested by the universe, feeling cursed, feeling worse
When I feel like I've been immersed with an overwhelming amount of the knowledge received
My philosophy just happens to be up to par with the writings of Socrates
Identifying anomalies
I'm sick of being simulated
So I live my life with grace
Less tears, more peers, less bottles of pain
Six months I've been loc'd in with this Rastafarian knowledge
Give you scripture and say it's forgotten like The Book of Enoch
This an apocalyptic themed redux
Nomadic how I move, I can never kick my feet up
Three blunts in I'm probably leaning and y'all still find it difficult to keep up
I'm still a nigga that fit the description when they see us
Even if it's no witness they still need a way to kill us
Rest in peace to my niggas, ain't plan to pour this liter
Or this fifth, I sipped some hard liquor, can't remember the name though
All black attire like Bruce Wayne in that black Camaro
Weed smoke in the air got you lifting your nose up just like Dinero
C'est la vie to Laissez, the fare charges are like my apparel
It's only French or Italiano
Vacation just to fornicate in Capistrano
These niggas envious, sully my name, I ain't Kano
I bring the pain though
Put all my niggas on my payroll and they don't need it
I'm up, I could never move down like a paraplegic
My prime is Hip-Hop's renaissance, it's a lot I can teach them
None of my niggas throw the Roc up
Y'all arms ain't even long enough to reach them
It's fuck the industry, imma sink my teeth in these crackers food and I ain't leaving

Written by:
Jamal Jaffa

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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