[Intro: Kurupt (Killah Priest)]
Headless Horsemen in the building
Killah (Maccabeez officials) nigga
Ras nigga, Bis nigga, it's Priest nigga, Horsemen nigga
("They spit like something else")
Maccabee (as the books get close and we move on)
It isn't human
I'm get you nigga (or the other) this how we do it
[Verse 1: Killah Priest]
I hide my face like the Elephant Man
Follow you, reach out of long black sleeves with skeleton hands
Touch rappers, watch them rot, their skin fall off
Boil in the pavement on a cold boardwalk
Then I laugh like the Joker while pissing on them
Then put on my hood wait on the next corner
The next victim look in his face with tears in my eyes
That crystallize and turn into stone before they fall from my dome
Like an avalanche, the way I spit sound like an African chant
The Priest run through MCs like I'm trampling ants
Peep the form, it's the Vatican stance
The Pope victor the first the flow spit with the curse
The sicker the verse the more bodies we stick in the dirt
Wait around I'ma pick you a hearse
I like the long black ones, drive around while spinning on two wheels
It's whatever you feel, blue steel
On black day, silver clouds when the mac spray
Turn rappers back into clay
My minds a museum filled with microphone exhibits
Of rhymes that I write that look like pictures
Headless Horsemen in the building
Killah (Maccabeez officials) nigga
Ras nigga, Bis nigga, it's Priest nigga, Horsemen nigga
("They spit like something else")
Maccabee (as the books get close and we move on)
It isn't human
I'm get you nigga (or the other) this how we do it
[Verse 1: Killah Priest]
I hide my face like the Elephant Man
Follow you, reach out of long black sleeves with skeleton hands
Touch rappers, watch them rot, their skin fall off
Boil in the pavement on a cold boardwalk
Then I laugh like the Joker while pissing on them
Then put on my hood wait on the next corner
The next victim look in his face with tears in my eyes
That crystallize and turn into stone before they fall from my dome
Like an avalanche, the way I spit sound like an African chant
The Priest run through MCs like I'm trampling ants
Peep the form, it's the Vatican stance
The Pope victor the first the flow spit with the curse
The sicker the verse the more bodies we stick in the dirt
Wait around I'ma pick you a hearse
I like the long black ones, drive around while spinning on two wheels
It's whatever you feel, blue steel
On black day, silver clouds when the mac spray
Turn rappers back into clay
My minds a museum filled with microphone exhibits
Of rhymes that I write that look like pictures
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