Luyện nghe bài hát Priesthood

As the final days begin, God sends four horsemen *horses neighing*
To his vengeance 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 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!?

[movie
Violence and of enemies.

[killah
I give a fake rapper a attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, I'm to rip
Last poet's me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous *horses neighing*
What now, nigga? look at ya talk
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 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 like to pop shit, get me started
I slap y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in
Squeeze yo' head yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, call my whole mothafuckin squadron

sample]
The four horsemen of the apocalypse are the bible's
Most figures.

priest]
'cause niggaz 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, shit
Call up yo' to this, it's 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 possess the
To run at top speed without my knees
I shit...

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

...wrap my hands around ya region
Then I squeezin 'til ya stop breathin
You weaklins is tug-of-war wit ya tongues
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 walk ever again
Nigga, you think you sick? I leave you lyin stiff
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 triple nine's mine
The pain'll make ya voice 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 and pictures
You'll be to leave the club 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 scud
Ready to spill ya blood
The four horsemen on the back of four
Puttin hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
*horses