Priesthood – Canibus – letras

As the final days begin, God sends four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*to reek his vengeance on a sinfull word. The first three bringconquest to war and famine.[Intro: Killah Priest]Yea, yea, yea, yea.Yea, yea. Fuck that!(Set it off.) Yea, yea, ya shitted.Ya in some shit now, son.It’s on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.I’m back! Fuck that shit!Ready to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e’rything, son.I’ma prove this shit, right here.Me and my nigga. What!?[Movie Sample]Violence and punishment of enemies.[Killah Priest]I give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rapI’m a vocalist, nigga, I’m supposed to ripLast Poet’s told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fistThen I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick *horses neighing*What now, nigga? Look at ya talk shitJust can’t do it, cuz you ain’t got no teeth in ya mouthAnd I know ya just tired of me, beatin ya outYa trained all year, in a karate classAnd took 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 lastI like to pop shit, don’t get me startedI slap y’all mothafuckas like y’all little kids in kindegartenSqueeze yo’ head till yo’ kidneys hardenNow watch this, I’ma call my whole mothafuckin squadron[Movie Sample]The four horsemen of the apocalypse are among the bible’smost terrifying figures.[Killah Priest]Cuz y’all niggaz is fucked upand Brooklyn niggaz is really ready to get yaI know how to hit ya, and cut ya openBut don’t worry, cuz I’ma stitch yaWith a rusty screwdriver[Chorus x2: Killah Priest]Niggaz bop yo’ heads to this, real shitCall up yo’ cliques to this, it’s realnessYou feel this in yo’ streets and villageSpare that new shit, Priest killed it[Canibus]Yo, yo, yoYo I’m a Macabeast MC and I possess the abilityTo run at top speed without bendin my kneesI destory shit…[Movie Sample]The fourth horsemen is the most frightening of them all.[Canibus]…wrap my hands around ya neck regionThen I start squeezin ’til ya stop breathinYou weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya tonguesI knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya lungsHit ya wit a blow your physical frame could never sustainYou’ll probably never walk ever againNigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin stiffPull you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitchStop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the Iron FistYou can’t rhyme bitch, the one triple nine’s mine bitchThe pain’ll make ya voice change octaves>From low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostageWe judge MC’s by they lyrical fitnessAnd punish DJ’s for puttin corny stickers on they mixesSmack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and picturesYou’ll be scared to leave the club wit usYou stratch my back, I’ll scratch your’s bitchI’ll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausageI got an atomic sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scudReady to spill ya crimson-colored bloodThe four horsemen on the back of four quadropedsPuttin four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!