Mind Your Fuckin’ Self

Yeah…

If the shoe fits, choke on it.

Black Lotus Viper.

Second Shift Samurai Squad.

⸻

You nosy motherfuckers allergic to mindin’ your own shit,

Always watchin’ my hands while your whole life’s broken to bits.

Pocket-watchin’, gossip-breathin’, useless-ass commentary,

Same loud mouths, zero work ethic, chronic mediocrity.

“What he doin’? Where he goin’? Why he movin’ like that?”

Bitch, worry ‘bout your lazy-ass footprint — nonexistent, flat.

Every day it’s the same broke-brain bullshit parade,

Talkin’ sideways ‘bout the grind you were never built to sustain.

You stare at hard workers like it offends your soul,

‘Cause discipline expose how fuckin’ weak you fold.

⸻

Mind your fuckin’ self, stay out my lane,

Your mouth work overtime, your body quit the game.

Mind your fuckin’ self, jealous and loud,

When effort show up, you suddenly ghost like a coward.

Mind your fuckin’ self — remember the name,

Second Shift Samurai, carved in pain.

⸻

Cry for overtime like you hungry for checks,

Soon as the work hit your hands, you cry “I’m tired,” then you step.

“I gotta go home” — yeah, no fuckin’ surprise,

You only want the reward, not the blood or the grind.

You hide like little bitches when it’s time to perform,

Then pop back up later talkin’ shit like you did somethin’ — nah.

Stick boy walkin’ circles like activity matters,

Bare minimum mascot, professional time-waster.

Fat fuck run his mouth but can’t carry a task,

All that weight in your voice, none in your fuckin’ output — trash.

Same two clowns, same tired-ass script,

Watchin’ real workers move while you trip over your bitchness.

⸻

Mind your fuckin’ self, fix your disgrace,

Stop countin’ my steps when you can’t run your race.

Mind your fuckin’ self, stay in your role,

You ain’t exhausted from work — you exhausted from bein’ useless, ho.

⸻

And fuck that mumble rap shit you swear is profound,

Can’t hear a goddamn word — just slurred sounds.

No spine, no message, no hunger, no soul,

Just drugged-out noise for brains scared of control.

Real hip-hop came from scars and survival,

Not auto-tuned whispers with a Xanax revival.

Wu-Tang taught us grit, Method Man taught us presence,

Redman taught us bars hit harder than your fuckin’ excuses.

This ain’t vibes — this is hunger and rage,

Every line got weight ‘cause I worked for this stage.

I don’t scream for attention, I don’t beg for respect,

I earn mine daily while you dodge every test.

Lotus calm, but the venom stay lethal,

Quiet execution, every bar is a needle.

⸻

So keep my name out your crusty-ass mouth,

Worry ‘bout your own shit, your own work, your own drought.

You ain’t my concern, you ain’t my peer,

You just background noise I slice through and disappear.

Black Lotus Viper.

Second Shift Samurai Squad.

Mind your fuckin’ self