Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* from the forthcoming "a view masada"

sample]
*horses
As the final days begin, God four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To reek his vengeance on a word. the first three bring
to war and famine.

[intro: priest]
Yea, yea, yea, yea.
Yea, yea. that!
(set it off.) yea, yea, ya shitted.
Ya in some now, son.
It's on now, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
and punishment of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake a heart attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, I'm to rip
Last poet's told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive
I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick *horses neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya just of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a class
And took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't
I like to pop shit, don't get me
I y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, call my whole mothafuckin squadron

sample]
The horsemen of the apocalypse are among the bible's
terrifying figures.

[killah
'cause niggaz is fucked up
And brooklyn niggaz is really to get ya
I how to hit ya, and cut ya open
But don't worry, 'cause i'ma ya
With a screwdriver

[chorus x2: killah
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, shit
Call up yo' to this, it's realness
You feel this in yo' streets and
Spare that new shit, killed it

Yo, yo, yo
Yo I'm a macabeast mc and I the ability
To run at top speed bendin my knees
I shit...

[movie
The fourth is the most frightening of them all.

...wrap my around ya neck region
Then I start squeezin ya stop breathin
You weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya
I knock the teeth out ya and suck the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow physical frame could never sustain
You'll never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I you lyin stiff
Pull you behind my til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple mine bitch
The make ya voice change octaves
low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We judge by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin corny stickers on they
Smack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and
You'll be scared to leave the wit us
You my back, I'll scratch your's bitch
eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausage
I got an atomic sub, armed wit a scud
to spill ya crimson-colored blood
The four horsemen on the back of quadropeds
Puttin four prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
neighing*