[Killah Priest]
The dirt colored clouds spread wide across the skies
Over mouths that lie
And hover heads of evil thoughts, dead birds fly
Money, religions, pigeons walk in circles with their heads cutoff
A city with love lost, drugs across with Jesus with feet missing
Christians pray, call out of them graves
Listen, chapters, psalms, verse 1:49
All of us blind, look at shorty in crime
Pause, the years gave no reward, weep more
Souls restored, new face, say ya grace
Saints, mama faints at the wake
Electrical fence or a wedding cake?
The choices we make
Let the Church kneel and I stand up
The gun the shield his handcuff
The system stamped us, the TV brand us, cameras
His Holy Grail fell, fathers getting darker
Martyrs in hell, hotter, gangsters holler from shells
Hammers, hands, feet with nails to a dollar
Cold sell, all ya answers is backwards
What we hear for? What's our true name and culture?
Some seek salvation at the aim of a soldier
The rain gets colder, our reign's getting closer
Jehovah Witness without the Watchtower looking over
I'm a Brooklyn roller; I speak how I suppose to
The rifle on my shoulder.... BAH!!!
The dirt colored clouds spread wide across the skies
Over mouths that lie
And hover heads of evil thoughts, dead birds fly
Money, religions, pigeons walk in circles with their heads cutoff
A city with love lost, drugs across with Jesus with feet missing
Christians pray, call out of them graves
Listen, chapters, psalms, verse 1:49
All of us blind, look at shorty in crime
Pause, the years gave no reward, weep more
Souls restored, new face, say ya grace
Saints, mama faints at the wake
Electrical fence or a wedding cake?
The choices we make
Let the Church kneel and I stand up
The gun the shield his handcuff
The system stamped us, the TV brand us, cameras
His Holy Grail fell, fathers getting darker
Martyrs in hell, hotter, gangsters holler from shells
Hammers, hands, feet with nails to a dollar
Cold sell, all ya answers is backwards
What we hear for? What's our true name and culture?
Some seek salvation at the aim of a soldier
The rain gets colder, our reign's getting closer
Jehovah Witness without the Watchtower looking over
I'm a Brooklyn roller; I speak how I suppose to
The rifle on my shoulder.... BAH!!!
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