[Killah Priest]
My rhyme, pen and king recognition dominion over false kindred's
The talk of women, brought from the star system
Dynamic emergence, wordsmith within his turban
Tats of the Virgin, power of planets emerging
Back from hell's furnace, born again, torn from sin
Broke the spell out of my shell, call the hermit
We're twirling books like Merlin within the firmament
The perfect balance, I hold my chalice
Accept ya challenge, I won't budge
Hardwood thugs with hammers and Timb boots and gloves
Woven the greatness, flowing with blood
That's just the basics
After I spit you'll see the Matrix
My heart restored with war, my grape's the realness
My wine of pillage, sip between lines made of pillars
Under his feet the word "Killah"
So print this out of ya data zone
Priest returns home, battlezone nigga!
Surrounded by a sculpture of women
Antisocial when I wrote this rhythm
The vultures got in them, gave us hope at the ending
Game is sour like the Pope of a lemon
My hand's a gram; I put dope in each sentence
Energize rhyme, electromagnetic, genetics
We writing esoteric, y'all could see the signs
I did what I could do, from the animal woods environment
The hood to analyze it, y'all could see the God designing
Deep minded, I stay rooted, sage music
Plus strokes of touch, your ghost hugs and shows
They love it yo; I do it for the souls, c'mon!
Raps raise the blood pressure
Customize rhymes to fit ya mind size
Difference between suicide notes or love letters
The light between my eyes enterprise
Rid you of mental waste toxins in ya doctrine
This oxygen is space
While ya head blows I pop ya face
Take loads off ya mind and do lunge
A newer army, flood the world like tsunamis
The greatest gift, from dark towers, Excalibur
He's down, now who's the next challenger?
That's when death surrounds ya
Desert Eagle peck ya by the silencer
Indirectly, diary, words are fiery
Thru the eyes of Reed
Thru a tube there's I.V. creating magic
In some minutes or some seconds on the record
In the sentence my pen wand shoots stars out of measure
P's God, I rhyme, cause pressure
Mind's the treasure; they call me water-head
Its Priest again y'all Walter's dead
Nah, its Walter again y'all, Priest is on his death bed
Who knows which way it goes, let's call him Priesthood instead
