Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

* from the "a view from masada"

[movie
neighing*
As the final days begin, God sends four horsemen *horses neighing*
To reek his on a sinfull 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 shit now, son.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this shit, here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
and punishment of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake rapper a 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 wit my explosive fist
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous *horses neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
Just can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya
And I know ya tired of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a karate
And took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya don't last
I like to pop shit, get me started
I y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in kindegarten
yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my mothafuckin squadron

sample]
The four horsemen of the are among the bible's
Most figures.

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

[chorus x2: priest]
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, shit
Call up yo' to this, it's realness
You feel in yo' streets and village
that new shit, priest killed 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 horsemen is the most frightening 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 out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow your frame could never sustain
You'll probably 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 nine's mine
The make ya voice change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin corny on they mixes
the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to the club wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch 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 horsemen on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin four prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
neighing*