Back to the previous page
Artist: Killah Priest
Album: The Exorcist
Song: Night Hawk
Typed by: DaSun Akbar
Emcees will have nightmares about the God right here
Flights of stairs runnin' recurrin', he's comin'
Concussions, concumptions, combustions
Your head bussin', lead clutchin'
You're dead fucka, I got the bread to cover
I'll have an emcee morgue
Step inside the fog
Many died tryna understand my dialogue
Side parks, write a blog
I'll be oblige to applaude wit the machine gun for fun
Priest the Alfred Hitchcock of Hip-Hop
Since BIG-Pac, I'm the big shot
Stamina for Pamela or Kid Rock
Empty clips out on ya plot
Lift the glock, rob you and yours for your wrist watch
Peoples rock Eight-off jackets
Sawed-off ratchets, haul y'all in caskets
Shout out to Adolf the assassin
You maggots, rock wit a Messiah faction
Holy of Holies is up next
Rim on deck, my pen put y'all to death
But this will be more spiritual then somethin' lyrical
Niggas talk and run their mouth till the Hawk come out
Let me show you what New York's about
Let me show you what Brooklyn's about
Let me show you why this hook's in ya mouth
Keep fuckin', I'ma do somethin'
Killers in the street, dealers in their beef
Niggas squeeze triggers
'Fore heat makin' brief niggas could eat quicker
Ambulance truck pull up, niggas try and glance
"Damn, what the fuck, who got bucked?"
Spend a dollar on the dutch, lit one up
While the goons post on the roof sittin' in the cut
Ridiculous, chick is cluck for the roosters
Ruthless shooters, use to die on corners
Or shootin' hoop cuz...
There ain't no leaders so there ain't no future
Plus all of his school teachers called him a loser
Apple Bottoms, Red Monkey
Tap the bottles, spend money on the Timberland boots
At the dice game, the middle-men scoop all of the loot
Gimme a cause to shoot, bitches wit fat onions
Thick lips, lemme hold somethin'
Cats wit no doe frontin'
Niggas 18 or 36, life is a dirty bitch wit crab
She picked out of her ass and threw it in the bucket
I spaz out wit the Mac out
Get back out then I blackout till it's black out
Then I pass out
Fuckin' rappers, y'all assed out
Lyrically Walter Reed is the best
Fought emcees like they chess
The fourth will squeeze on ya necks
Ultimately to your coffin bleedin' till your death
Paramedics kept, here's the record -
You tryna lead my people in your step?
Nah son, leave those niggas alone
Priest got us sewn, he in the zone
It's hard to hear y'all from his throne
King of BK, ee-zay, best of Ra
From outta Bed-Stuy into Best Buy
How many emcees must I defeat?
I let the lead fly, but not the lead that come from a bullet
But the lead that I write in my footage, feel me?