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, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! that shit!
to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this shit, here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
and punishment of enemies.

[killah
I give a rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, I'm to rip
poet's told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya shit
Just do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya just tired of me, ya out
Ya trained all year, in a class
And took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya and ya parties don't last
I like to pop shit, don't get me
I slap y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in
Squeeze yo' till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole mothafuckin

sample]
The four horsemen of the apocalypse are among the
terrifying 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 worry, 'cause i'ma stitch ya
With a screwdriver

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

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

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

...wrap my hands around ya neck
Then I start squeezin 'til ya breathin
You weaklins is playin wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya gums and the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow your frame could never sustain
You'll probably never walk ever
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin
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 nine's mine bitch
The pain'll make ya voice change
>from to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We mc's by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
Smack the stripper for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be to leave the club wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch bitch
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya my sausage
I got an atomic sub, armed wit a scud
Ready to spill ya blood
The four horsemen on the back of quadropeds
Puttin four prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses