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 vengeance on a sinfull word. the first three
to war and famine.

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

[movie
and punishment of enemies.

[killah
I give a rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, I'm to rip
Last told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist
Then I ya off with my tremendous horse-kick *horses neighing*
What now, look at ya talk shit
Just can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya
And I ya just tired of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a 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, get me started
I slap y'all mothafuckas y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys
Now watch this, i'ma call my mothafuckin squadron

[movie
The four of the apocalypse are among the bible's
Most figures.

priest]
'cause niggaz is fucked up
And brooklyn is really ready to get ya
I know how to hit ya, and cut ya
But don't worry, i'ma stitch ya
a rusty screwdriver

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

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

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

...wrap my hands ya neck region
Then I start squeezin 'til ya stop
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 could never
You'll never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin
Pull you behind my til I break ya spine, bitch
cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron fist
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple mine bitch
The pain'll make ya voice octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we a hostage
We judge by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for corny stickers on they mixes
the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to leave the wit us
You stratch my back, scratch your's bitch
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my
I got an sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to ya crimson-colored blood
The four on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses