Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the days begin, God sends four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To his vengeance 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.
I'ma prove this shit, here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

sample]
Violence and of enemies.

[killah
I a fake 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 *horses
What now, look at ya talk shit
Just can't do it, 'cause you got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya just tired of me, ya out
Ya all year, in a karate class
And took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last
I like to pop shit, don't get me
I slap y'all like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, call my whole mothafuckin squadron

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

[killah
y'all niggaz 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: priest]
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, shit
up yo' cliques to this, it's realness
You feel in yo' streets 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 bendin my knees
I shit...

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

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