Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* from the forthcoming "a view masada"

sample]
*horses
As the final days begin, God sends terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To reek his vengeance on a sinfull word. the 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.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
Violence and of enemies.

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

sample]
The four of the apocalypse are among the bible's
Most figures.

[killah
y'all niggaz is fucked up
And niggaz is really ready to get ya
I how to hit ya, and cut ya open
But worry, 'cause i'ma stitch ya
a rusty screwdriver

[chorus x2: priest]
bop yo' heads to this, real shit
Call up yo' to this, it's realness
You feel in yo' streets and village
that new shit, priest killed it

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

sample]
The fourth is the most frightening of them all.

...wrap my hands around ya neck
Then I squeezin 'til ya stop breathin
You weaklins is tug-of-war wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya
Hit ya wit a blow your physical frame never sustain
You'll probably never walk again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you stiff
Pull you my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the fist
You can't bitch, the one triple nine's mine bitch
The pain'll make ya change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a
We judge mc's by they fitness
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
Smack the stripper bitches for for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to leave the wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch your's
eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausage
I got an sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to spill ya crimson-colored
The four horsemen on the of four quadropeds
Puttin hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
neighing*