Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the final days begin, God four 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 some now, son.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this shit, here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
Violence and 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 horse-kick *horses
What now, nigga? at ya talk shit
Just can't do it, you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth
And I ya just tired of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a class
And one second, to put yo' ass in a body 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 y'all kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole squadron

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

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

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

Yo, yo, yo
Yo I'm a mc and I possess 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 ya stop breathin
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 your physical frame could never
probably never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin
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 pain'll make ya voice change
>from to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin corny stickers on they
Smack the bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to the club wit us
You stratch my back, I'll 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 horsemen on the of four quadropeds
Puttin hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
neighing*