J’Moris Paints a Velvet Nightmare on ‘Toxic Lovespell’

J’Moris didn’t come here to play therapist. He came to unload.

Toxic Lovespell feels like the kind of track you write when you’re finally done pretending everything was cool. There’s venom in the delivery, sure, but more than that—there’s clarity. He’s not lost in the mess anymore. He’s walking through it, lighting a Black & Mild, talking his talk.

What you hear isn’t heartbreak—it’s aftermath. That quiet, low-buzz moment after the drama fades and the truth hits harder than any argument ever did. This ain’t no “woe is me” joint. This is the version of healing they don’t glamorize. The ugly kind. The type that shows up at 2 a.m. in your notes app and sounds like 808s underwater.

J’Moris raps like someone who’s lived three lives already. There’s weight in his pauses. Lines don’t beg you to feel them—they just sit there, heavy, daring you to look away. Supamario Beatz lays the foundation with a slow, dripping beat that feels like it was cooked in an old soul sample and dipped in codeine.

And while the track feels final—like a full stop on a toxic chapter—J’Moris ain’t done. Word is, he’s deep in the studio again. The next batch of records? Probably sharper. Definitely louder. He’s got smoke in his chest and stories still to tell.

Off the mic, he’s flipping the script too. His podcast Life Outside Lyrics gives you unfiltered J’Moris—no ad-libs, no auto-tune. Just game, stories, and that East Texas drawl anchoring it all.

With Toxic Lovespell, J’Moris isn’t asking for sympathy. He’s just telling you how it went down. And if you’ve ever loved the wrong one long enough to lose yourself, you already know.

Some joints heal you.
Some just remind you why you had to heal in the first place.