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 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 shit now, son.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, beat 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 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 of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a class
And took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't
I like to pop shit, get me started
I slap y'all mothafuckas like little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, call my whole mothafuckin squadron

[movie
The four horsemen of the apocalypse are among the
terrifying figures.

[killah
'cause y'all is fucked up
And brooklyn niggaz is ready to get ya
I how to hit ya, and cut ya open
But worry, 'cause 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 in yo' streets and village
Spare that new shit, priest it

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

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

...wrap my hands ya neck region
I start squeezin 'til ya stop breathin
You weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya
I knock the teeth out ya gums and the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow physical frame could never sustain
You'll never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you stiff
you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple nine's bitch
The pain'll make ya voice change
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
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 sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to spill ya blood
The four horsemen on the back of four
Puttin four hoof on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
neighing*