Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the final days begin, God sends terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To reek his vengeance on a sinfull word. the three bring
to war and famine.

[intro: killah
Yea, yea, yea, yea.
Yea, yea. that!
(set it off.) yea, yea, ya shitted.
Ya in shit now, son.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this shit, here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

sample]
Violence and of enemies.

priest]
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 wit my explosive fist
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous *horses neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
Just can't do it, 'cause you got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya tired of me, beatin 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 mothafuckas y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys
Now watch this, i'ma my whole mothafuckin squadron

sample]
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
a rusty screwdriver

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

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

sample]
The fourth is the most frightening of them all.

...wrap my hands ya neck region
Then I start squeezin 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 could never sustain
You'll probably never ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme I leave you lyin stiff
Pull you my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop 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 change
low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We mc's by they lyrical fitness
And dj's for puttin corny stickers on they mixes
Smack the stripper for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to the club wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch your's
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya my sausage
I got an sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
to spill ya crimson-colored blood
The four on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin four hoof on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses