Magick


Tehuti Mos – Pierce The Mango
Produced by Macabean the Rebel
Off The Forthcoming Quill 1

I am Sheikh Tehuti Mos, the top scholar,
was in Sankore by Ahmed Baba,
pre Allah pre Akmad pre Ka’ba, a black guru praying to Unkulukulu,
i practice voodoo i’m surrounded by 7 snakes,
as Damballah, spill the blood of 11 apes,
my Ba, gives praise to Asase Yaa,
in a kemetian theatre i play Ra, and blow kisses to Ninhavanuma,
was chosen by Taweret protected by the Sa,
I give praise to Shaka’s mother the great Elephant,
dressed in leopard skin, her beauty’s so elegant,

“Chorurs”
Spear and a shield I’m practicing in a field,
trying to pierce the mango before it gets peeled,

Verse 2

Was born in a cave, necklace made of jade,
take a deep breath as i inhale the sage,
martyrs on my mind as I’m kneeling at the graves,
blood on my palm as i grip the tight blade,
reptillian beings walking the slick path,
blow the powder to the moon and channel my witchcraft,
hokus, pokus, amen, opus,
send a plague to your crops iron sheikh locusts,
when my hand commands they rise from out the sand,
extend my fingers they move toward man,
then span to a scenery that looks so gory,
Dabazit, enquosy en ma enquosy,

“Chorus”

Verse 3

Listen to the dirt i hunt using the sticks,
native to monotapa he who speaks in olam, plant bones for the omen,
smite Romans, put my spear in the heart of Konan,
was never barbaric my oracle is a parrot,
black sabbath for the black rabbits with no carrots,
black cats walk my lawn,
i break 7 mirrors in the house when its dawn,
drawn by a spirit of a gathering,
play frisbee with the rings around saturn,
drop my Gavelin start mind traveling,
i start babelin, if you ready lets start battling,
using my mental to make your temple start shattering,

Chorus

Verse 4

Massai warrior, i raise my blade in battle,
dust off my saddle stand on the backs of cattle,
rattle snake soup my wife is half clothed,
breast hanging out large rings in her nose,
ashy toes high heel moccasins black veil,
1000 braids with glitter all on her nails,
the trail, is left, perfume, i smell,
frankincense and myrrh i breathe in inhale,
play the cow bell, yell Habari Ghani,
virgin by the campfire, nicknamed Nambi,
original spider man shoot my web,
crook and flail left for the grandson of Geb

“Chorus”.

WhiteWitch

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