Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* from the forthcoming "a from masada"

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

[movie
Violence and of enemies.

priest]
I a fake rapper 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? at ya talk shit
Just can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya
And I know ya just tired of me, ya out
Ya all year, in a karate class
And one second, to put yo' ass in a body bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya and ya parties don't last
I like to pop shit, get me started
I y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole mothafuckin

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

[killah
y'all niggaz is fucked up
And brooklyn is really ready to get ya
I how to hit ya, and cut ya open
But don't worry, 'cause stitch ya
a rusty screwdriver

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

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

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

...wrap my hands around ya neck
I start squeezin 'til ya stop breathin
You weaklins is tug-of-war wit ya tongues
I knock the out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a your physical frame could never sustain
You'll never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme I leave you lyin stiff
Pull you behind my til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the fist
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple 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 corny on they mixes
Smack the stripper bitches for for our autograph and pictures
You'll be to leave the club wit us
You my back, I'll scratch your's bitch
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya my sausage
I got an sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to spill ya crimson-colored
The four on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin four hoof on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses