Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Musifixion, artist - Killah Priest. Date of issue: 04.05.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Musifixion |
| Priesthood |
| It’s time to ride on y’all |
| A cat named Priest, yo |
| They say it comes like a thief in the night |
| Some say you see fire when he breathes on the mic |
| The legend has it, his neck and his back is tatted |
| On his arms are scriptures of psalms |
| Just vision a Don with vultures on his shoulder |
| A pearl gun in his holster under the seat |
| One on the chauffer, twisted cobras in front of his ride |
| Gun to his side, blunted eyes |
| Lookin' up at thunderous skys |
| The wonders arrive, statues change position |
| Stone eyes open up, pupils follow me inside |
| This is the time, the twisted mind of Priest |
| White wolves leap out the woods |
| Bite at the hooves of all the horses |
| Return like Christ in the hood |
| And the month now is Black August, c’mon |
| They all deny me (pain…y'all really wanna get guns) |
| Stood right beside me (pick one, which one) |
| Try to divide me (if y’all really wanna go for it) |
| While y’all all musify me (holla back and let a nigga know) |
| They all deny me (pain…y'all really wanna get guns) |
| Stood right beside me (pick one, which one) |
| Try to divide me (if y’all really wanna go for it) |
| While all y’all musify me (holla back and let a nigga know) |
| Picture me on a black cross |
| Black crows near both arms |
| Blood drippin' from both palms |
| And I’m squirmin' cuz the sore of my wounds are burnin' |
| Tossed from the wombs of virgins |
| I seen it all, medical room of surgeons |
| Read it all in the KP version |
| I look down, people spittin' and cursin' |
| Everybody quiet, listen to the sermon |
| Record execs dress like Romans |
| Pierce in my side, I’m goin through convulsions |
| Starin' straight to a jet black ocean |
| Three times I heard the rooster crow |
| Cats I used to know denied me but now use my flow |
| Used to feel my taste, my eyes searched the crowd for a familiar face |
| All bein' persecuted for purchasing the music |
| I’m like the works of a Judas |
| Or does it when I hurt my movement |
| While crooked lawyers gamble at the foot of my cross |
| My spirit leaves to the hoods of New York |
| I see streaks of lightning, angels with white wings |
| Above me flapping across the skies |
| They thought I died until one of them heard my cries |
| Now I’m back with blood on my hands, blood on my wings |
| Clutchin' two sub-machines, duckin' and screams |
| Two fully loaded magazines with M-16's |
| Clappin' in the crowd, I empty out and reload |
| I squeeze low, with one knee to the flo' |
| I’mma get all you bastards |
| Loadin' up bullets the size of carrots |
| The kind the CIA find on the Arabs |
| When I’m through y’all won’t need any caskets |
| I’mma leave y’all for the birds and the maggots |
| Then I’mma strike the matches |
| Burn up ya corpses, it’s like I’m possessed by forces |
| Priest the sorceress, then the clouds gather |
| Then the foul scatter, in the air I can taste the warfare |
| Y’all didn’t think I’ll be back for vengeance |
| Well y’all wrong, now suffer the consequences |
| And I came with armed defenses |
| Highly trained to break your fences in |
| Yeah they wanna musify me man |
| Just like they crucified Christ |
| But this is music, they musified me |
| But just like him, if I die |
| I rise in three days |
| Believe me don’t search at the grave |
| I’ll be in the PJ’s hahahaha |
| Follow me |