Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* from the "a view from masada"

[movie
*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, can suck my dick.
I'm back! that shit!
Ready to eat up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma this shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

sample]
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 with my tremendous horse-kick neighing*
What now, nigga? at ya talk shit
Just can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no in ya mouth
And I know ya tired 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 last
I to pop shit, don't get me started
I slap y'all mothafuckas y'all little kids in kindegarten
yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole squadron

[movie
The horsemen of the apocalypse are among the bible's
terrifying figures.

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

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

Yo, yo, yo
Yo I'm a macabeast mc and I possess the
To run at top without bendin my knees
I shit...

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

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