Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the days begin, God sends four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*
To reek his vengeance on a sinfull word. the first three
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.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma this shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

sample]
Violence and of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake rapper a heart attack, 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
I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick *horses neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
Just can't do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya
And I know ya tired of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a karate
And one second, to put yo' ass in a body bag
>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't
I like to pop shit, get me started
I slap y'all like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys
Now watch this, call my whole mothafuckin squadron

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

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

x2: killah priest]
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, shit
up yo' cliques to this, it's realness
You feel this in yo' 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 without bendin my knees
I shit...

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

...wrap my around ya neck region
Then I start squeezin 'til ya breathin
You weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya
I knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya
Hit ya wit a blow your physical frame could sustain
You'll probably never walk again
Nigga, you you rhyme sick? 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 triple mine bitch
The make ya voice change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every we kill a hostage
We judge by they lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
Smack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and
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 suck my
I got an atomic sub, wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to ya crimson-colored blood
The four on the back of four quadropeds
Puttin four hoof on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses