Priesthood - Killah Priest

As the final days begin, God sends four terrible horsemen *horses neighing*

To reek his vengeance on a sinfull word.

The first three bring

Conquest to war and famine

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 niggas up, beat they ass and e’rything, son

I’ma prove this shit, right here

Me and my nigga.

What?!

Violence and punishment of enemies

I give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap

I’m a vocalist, nigga, I’m supposed to rip

Last Poet’s told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist

Then I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick *horses neighing*

What now, nigga?

Look at ya talk shit

Just can’t do it, cuz you ain’t got no teeth in ya mouth

And I know ya just tired of me, beatin ya out

Ya trained all year, in a karate class

And 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 last

I like to pop shit, don’t get me started

I slap y’all mothafuckas like y’all little kids in kindegarten

Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys harden

Now watch this, I’ma call my whole mothafuckin squadron

The four horsemen of the apocalypse are among the bible’s

Most terrifying figures

Cuz y’all niggas is fucked up

And Brooklyn niggas is really ready to get ya

I know how to hit ya, and cut ya open

But don’t worry, cuz I’ma stitch ya

With a rusty screwdriver

Niggas bop yo' heads to this, real shit

Call up yo' cliques to this, it’s realness

You feel this in yo' streets and village

Spare that new shit, Priest killed it

Yo, yo, yo

Yo I’m a Macabeast MC and I possess the ability

To run at top speed without bendin my knees

I destory shit…

The fourth horsemen is the most frightening of them all

…wrap my hands around ya neck region

Then I start squeezin 'til ya stop breathin

You weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya tongues

I knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya lungs

Hit ya wit a blow your physical frame could never sustain

You’ll probably never walk ever again

Nigga, you think you rhyme sick?

I leave you lyin stiff

Pull you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitch

Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the Iron Fist

You can’t rhyme bitch, the one triple nine’s mine bitch

The pain’ll make ya voice change octaves

]From low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage

We judge MC’s by they lyrical fitness

And punish DJ’s for puttin corny stickers on they mixes

Smack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures

You’ll be scared to leave the club wit us

You stratch my back, I’ll scratch your’s bitch

I’ll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausage

I got an atomic sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud

Ready to spill ya crimson-colored blood

The four horsemen on the back of four quadropeds

Puttin four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!