Priesthood

* from the forthcoming "A View From Masada"

Movie Sample
*horses neighing*
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.

Intro: Killah Priest
Yea, yea, yea, yea.
Yea, yea. fck that!
(Set it off.) Yea, yea, ya .
Ya in some s**t now, son.
It's on now, mothafkas can suck my d*ck.
I'm back! fck that s**t!
Ready to eat up, beat they as* and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this s**t, right here.
Me and my nigg*. What!?

Movie Sample
Violence and punishment of enemies.

Killah Priest
I give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigg*, 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, nigg*? Look at ya talk s**t
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' as* in a body bag
>From a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last
I like to pop s**t, don't get me started
I slap y'all mothafkas like y'all little kids in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, I'ma call my whole mothafkin squadron

Movie Sample
The four horsemen of the apocalypse are among the bible's
most terrifying figures.

Killah Priest
Cuz y'all is fked up
and Brooklyn 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

Chorus x2: Killah Priest
bop yo' heads to this, real s**t
Call up yo' cliques to this, it's realness
You feel this in yo' streets and village
Spare that new s**t, Priest killed it

Canibus
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 s**t...

Movie Sample
The fourth horsemen is the most frightening of them all.

Canibus
...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
nigg*, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin stiff
Pull you behind my horse til I break ya spine, b*tch
Stop cryin b*tch, before I hit ya wit the Iron Fist
You can't rhyme b*tch, the one triple nine's mine b*tch
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 girls 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 b*tch
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, mothafkas!
*horses neighing*