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: priest]
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! that shit!
to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma this shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

sample]
Violence and of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake rapper a heart attack, I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, I'm to rip
Last poet's me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick *horses
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
Just can't do it, 'cause you got no teeth in ya mouth
And I ya just tired of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a karate
And one second, to put yo' ass in a body bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties last
I to pop shit, don't get me started
I slap y'all like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys
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 niggaz is really ready to get ya
I how to hit ya, and cut ya open
But don't worry, 'cause i'ma ya
a rusty screwdriver

[chorus x2: killah
Niggaz bop yo' to this, real 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 mc and I possess the ability
To run at top speed without bendin my
I shit...

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

...wrap my hands around ya region
Then I start 'til ya stop breathin
You is playin tug-of-war 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 never ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you stiff
Pull you my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the fist
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple mine bitch
The pain'll make ya change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, hour we kill a hostage
We mc's by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for corny stickers on they mixes
Smack the bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
be scared to leave the club wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch bitch
eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausage
I got an sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
to spill ya crimson-colored blood
The four horsemen on the back of four
four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses