Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the final days begin, God four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To his vengeance 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 shit now, son.
It's on now, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! that shit!
Ready to eat up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma this shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[movie
Violence and of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I 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 *horses neighing*
now, nigga? 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 trained all year, in a class
And one second, to put yo' ass in a body bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya don't last
I like to pop shit, get me started
I slap y'all mothafuckas y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' harden
Now watch this, i'ma my whole mothafuckin squadron

sample]
The four horsemen of the are among the bible's
terrifying figures.

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

[chorus x2: priest]
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, shit
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 without my knees
I shit...

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

...wrap my hands around ya neck
Then I start squeezin 'til ya 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 could sustain
probably never walk ever again
Nigga, you you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin stiff
Pull you behind my til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the fist
You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple nine's bitch
The make ya voice change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, hour we kill a hostage
We judge by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin corny on they mixes
Smack the stripper bitches for askin for our and pictures
You'll be scared to leave the wit us
You stratch my back, I'll scratch bitch
eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausage
I got an atomic sub, armed wit a sub-atomic
Ready to ya crimson-colored blood
The horsemen on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses