Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* from the "a view from masada"

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

[intro: killah
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! that shit!
to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this shit, 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
poet's told 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? look at ya shit
Just can't do it, 'cause you got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya just of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a class
And one second, to put yo' ass in a body 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 slap y'all like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole mothafuckin

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

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

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

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

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

...wrap my hands ya neck region
Then I start 'til ya stop breathin
You is playin 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 could sustain
You'll probably never ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin
Pull you behind my horse til I ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, I hit ya wit the iron fist
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple nine's mine
The pain'll make ya change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, hour we kill a hostage
We mc's by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin corny stickers on they
Smack the stripper bitches for for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to the club 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, wit a sub-atomic scud
to spill ya crimson-colored blood
The horsemen on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin four hoof on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses