Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the final days begin, God sends four terrible *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, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, beat ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
and punishment of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I 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 my tremendous horse-kick *horses neighing*
What now, look at ya talk shit
Just can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya
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
a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last
I to pop shit, don't get me started
I slap y'all like y'all little kids in kindegarten
yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole mothafuckin

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

[killah
'cause y'all is fucked up
And niggaz is really ready to get ya
I know how to hit ya, and cut ya
But worry, 'cause i'ma stitch ya
With a screwdriver

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

Yo, yo, yo
Yo I'm a macabeast mc and I the ability
To run at top speed bendin my knees
I shit...

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

...wrap my hands ya neck region
Then I start squeezin 'til ya breathin
You weaklins is playin wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya and suck the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a your physical frame could never sustain
You'll probably never walk ever
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you stiff
Pull you my horse 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
low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We judge by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin corny stickers on they
Smack the stripper bitches for for our autograph and pictures
be scared to leave the club wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch your's
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my
I got an atomic sub, armed wit a scud
Ready to spill ya crimson-colored
The horsemen on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin four prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses