Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the final begin, God sends four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To reek his on a sinfull 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 some now, son.
It's on now, can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, beat ass and e'rything, son.
prove 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 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 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 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 like y'all little kids in
Squeeze yo' head yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my mothafuckin squadron

[movie
The four horsemen of the apocalypse are the bible's
terrifying figures.

[killah
'cause y'all 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 i'ma ya
With a screwdriver

x2: killah priest]
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, real
Call up yo' to this, it's realness
You feel this in yo' and village
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 bendin my
I shit...

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

...wrap my around ya neck region
Then I start squeezin 'til ya stop
You weaklins is playin wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya gums and the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow your physical frame never sustain
You'll probably walk ever again
Nigga, you think you sick? I leave you lyin stiff
Pull you behind my horse til I break ya spine,
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron
You can't bitch, the one triple nine's mine bitch
The make ya voice change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by they lyrical
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to leave the wit us
You my back, I'll scratch your's bitch
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my
I got an atomic sub, armed wit a scud
to spill ya crimson-colored blood
The four on the back of four quadropeds
four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses