Hard Times Killah Priest

[Killah Priest]
The prophecies of a poor man end on a train
Take his last breath
Slumps over drops his last bit of change
A mother pacing by her window pane
Staring hopeless at the gentle rain
When the messenger returns telling her
That her child was slain
She reaches for his picture frame
Open up the good book read the scriptures
And sighs his name
The skies full of flames
Streets are gothic
Twelve niggas lay dead in front of their projects
Reminding D's of a classic mob hit
Bitches gossip, about they men being targets, or suspects
Niggas in the lab taking goldenseal
For tomorrows drug test
Scared niggas hugging they techs
Don't want to get plugged next
Outside there's a bloodfeast
We all product, faced with hard luck
Since the wrath of God struck
Now we like "Yo Tone let me borrow a buck"
He like "Yo what the fuck"
Niggas was born to be skeletons
Or was it the curse of this dark melanin
When I die will I open my eyes in Hell again
With these jealous men
Lord forgive me but I smell a gin
On the lips of winos
Sent a plague turned 'em all into Albinos
With horns coming from their foreheads like Rhinos
Read it in my last testament and my hidden scrolls
See my icon straight faced with a torn robe
A beard and some cornrows
The whole globe hears when I perform my shows