Lyrics Get Lifted - Killah Priest, Shabaam Sahdeeq, Tru-Mac

Get Lifted

My pad’s an art gallery of harsh reality
Pictures of niggaz within the scriptures with the same style as me
Christ had his disciples, Priest has his posse
But did they swing box cutters in gutters and blow trees in lobby’s?
Nah, theres for Bethlehem puff the wild irish grand
Till he told him that his hours at hand
Fuck that my last suppers at Benny Hanna’s
A strip club wit sick thugs throwin plenty dollars
Ice chain the Dice game wit the Semi Revolver
My passion is of the hood life, gangsters and killers
Niggaz represent the struggle sayin Priest we feel ya'
These the Paintings of a Saints wings, the Lucifer horns
Shootouts and stabbings the youth is all gone (feel me)
We get shit lifted niggas
Roll a spliff take a sip a the liquor
Spark the coke now I’m definately wit’cha
We get shit lifted nigga
I move through the smog of the city life
Blend with the grimy gritty type we make moves at night
Got a kite from my scrap he about to touch down
We spent a yard up north and walk the block in the town
Travel at the speed a sound
A moving target’s hard to hit, thats why I keep it moving kid
Paint a picture without a brush I put my life on sketch
Every line is pain and my love is intricate
Drink liquor till the bottle hollow, Thankful to see tomorrow
Thankful to see my man we gotta continue the plans
Grands upon grands is what we trying to stack
And there aint no turning back unless the guns pointed at me
Dog I caught a hole in my back
I guess thats payback for all the dirt I did in the past
I seen life pass before my eyes in a flash
I been caged up wishing I could be on the ave
I been in a dorm, wishing I could be in the lab
My loyalty is priceless, my heart is genuine
You gain a driving force if you got me as a friend
I blow ganja smoke in the air for all my dead kin
And I vow till my boy pow wow will win
Tru sippin Liquor again wit the blicker again
Fresh out the dugout watch the picture begin
On the mound striking em out, snipen em out
All the new birds you heard how I’m pipen em out?
Born a great, Tru-Mac will storm ya state
I ain’t sprung like T-Pain when I fornicate
I’m psycho call me Norman Bates
Try to Ice Grill me, I’ma fit ya George Foreman plate
Quiet down or I"ll cause a Riot now
Time to set up shop on the block and tie it down
Stacks is flippin, Warning my ratchet spittin
On attack for all of you cats thats snitchin
My logic’s focused who gossip hopeless
Ima stomp on cats, backs like ugh, project roaches
Running game like Vince Young through the goaline
Killin kids like them dudes in that coal mine