Ningishzidda - Killah Priest

The god of the glorious sons, the terrible ones

Grant me your genetic powers, the guardians come

Ishtar, Buddha, rulers

The armies I’m from is super

My pen touch the pad, it turns nuclear

My words become fewer

I’m now in the future as I’m channeling

The Tetragrammaton start unraveling

I stop Thor at the door, no hammers in

Y’all started fights, I started wars, Samson men

I emerge from out of bitter herbs

When I was born, I was given myrrh

And after I di, I’ll be the living word

Chapters and scribs, hymns and verbs

I’m the aloe vera of the Sahara

Follow the cherubs, I’m be swallowed by the terror

Mulattos ride through Morocco with Arabs

Blessing those who perished, whose faces were reddish

Where spacemen wear goggles from the cosmo era

We come for the natives

Like those from Toronto in ponchos, the people Monsanto hated

And those from the slave-ships

And everyone else who they known or related

Bone to my bone, flesh in my flesh, left alone there naked

Just follow my tone on the microphone as we spin like a record

The pain I sketch on paper

Make echinacea stretch around the gangsta

As flower petals fall over the devil

I’ll have ‘em grabbing God’s heel as I put a crown on the savior

And the seraphim are covered with Mexican

That’s a rare herb used by Central and South Americans

Used during temple service

Ritual incense-burning

Offerings for the deceased

Thus say of the Lord God, Lord Sun, the album from Killah Priest

In the abode of the righteous and balanced universe

I spew this verse 'til they build my tomb in the dirt

As they’re mummified and our face move with a smirk

‘cause I know I’ve written for those who’ve been hurt, with balance and

brilliance

Bestowing the governorship for all, I put my blood in this script

My life and true testament at my descent now into the seats of worship

The of darkness and many titles of nobility to the unknown Killa Bee

Wisdom of the wing writer

The pen in my palm is a wand in a ring of fire

I wave it, my pages turn to doves and blue stripes

I take each one, place ‘em on the stand of my mic

Some on the stand of my light

It’s magic, understand how I write

It’s not rapping, my face and my hands become bright

A long pause as my jaws become tight

It’s all done

Lord Sun