Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* the forthcoming "a view from masada"

[movie
neighing*
As the final begin, God sends 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, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, beat ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma this shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

sample]
Violence and of enemies.

priest]
I give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I 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
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
Just do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya just of me, beatin ya out
Ya all year, in a karate class
And took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
>from a 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' kidneys
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole squadron

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

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

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

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

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

...wrap my hands around ya 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 out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow physical frame could never 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 bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron fist
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple nine's bitch
The make ya voice change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we a hostage
We judge by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
the stripper 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
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
four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses