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My pages are canvas, the madness |
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Filled wit killers wit hammers |
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Galleries are projecties and poverty |
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Secrete societies ran by schools that Harvard breeds |
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The horror still haunts me, then the dark art we bleed |
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Upon the heads of the children |
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Spread through each building in the ghetto |
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Presto, pop up books of cops and crooks |
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Watched by Bush - organization |
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With horns of Satan, performs the ancient rituals of pagan |
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That's why I spit that Joshua Apocrypha |
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My mind's the photographer, the philosopher |
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The boss' head is in the pot for ya |
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The Moors spread the doctrine for us |
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To teach our black kids before the craft lift |
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Or shake in the casket |
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The last ship is at the rapture and that's it |
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It's that quick, this is that hit, this is that hit |
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(Chorus) Priest |
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Storms shall flown outta the skies |
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Look within and open your eyes |
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We are the children of the 'Most High' |
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Ha-haha-ha-haha-ha... |
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[Chief Kamachi] |
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The Western man abolished the arts |
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Children of Bethlehem did Astrology charts |
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Three Wise Men followed the stars |
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Now three American youths following cars |
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Bring truth it's what we doing for OZ |
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Sharp spiritual arches shooting from Mars |
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Go for your gold, stumbling souls |
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Ghetto heaven where the first stomach rumble as rose |
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But you are the future, the ones that are chose |
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Mind of the Sphinx's asked why'd they chisel the nose? |
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Cuz you pollute the Earth, you know how your seeds will grow |
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Life's a hard cell and death ain't reasonable |
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Still ain't blessed faith been good |
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I ain't Christian, them burnt crosses is wasting wood |
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Who knew a plate of food for thought could taste this good? |
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On my knees I prostrate and face the hood |
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(Chorus) Priest 2x |
