[Intro: ~Hell Razah~ (Killah Priest)]
(Yeah) Yo Priest? (What up, son?)*
Yo, three days ago, son, they just locked up homey, son (word?)
He try'nna get out, made bail and shit (ah man)
So we gotta grind, get all our niggas out of there (yeah, tell them)
Niggas getting three months for weed clips, Bloomberg is bugging the fuck out
Knowhatimsaying, yo the Maccabee rebels, throw your M's up
Ride out, time to step out the hide out, in the project
Yeah, all my DJ's for banging this shit right there
Ya'll gon' get mad hood love and respect, homey, word up, yeah
[Hell Razah]
I'm in the hood, where it's cracks and guns, that's where I stack my funds
Blowing that 'dro, that'll collapse your lungs
He ain't blowing til his casket come, til his fam in the black
By the alter, and the pastors done
I'm where the dogs love to kill, for they master's crumb
She only 22, son, and got two baby daddy's
Fucking with them Arab niggas, driving cabbies
Writing Dear Abby, while the young is so nasty
They holla at me, from Red Hook back to Cali
In white t-shirts, Chuck Taylor's and blue khaki's
Get money like we IRS, we came to tax/collect
We want ya'll credit cards, cash or checks
Fix your eyebrow, watch it, it's Maccabee style
Hell Raze', 718, press redial
BK, be the borough with the best freestyle
And we them live ass niggas, you ain't see in a while
[Chorus 2X: Killah Priest]
We live this, it's our life
Til this world passes over, and they say goodnight
[Killah Priest]
As the night falls over project, the moon appears like a souvenier
For scramblers, who moving hand guns
Hammers blow, I pray God protects they soul
Bodies turn up in hospitals, like vegetable
Death's a toll, we cross with caution, drug extortion
Thug abortion, the iron horses
Is our only sources, crying, no remorses
I draw a hood portrait, with crayons of chaos
Graveyards are packed, with all of my people
Lord help Mr. Bush when I draw the eagle
I'm for the people, by the people
The ghetto, is not helpful, so stressful, like death row
Preacher says a prayer, then it's off to the chair
I wanna kill 'em all, cuz it's war, it ain't fair
They gave us guns with six shots, that's why I grab two Glocks
Then let off twelve for my nation
The combination of hell, embraced by crack addicts
Trapped on this atlas, religion's all backwards
Blame the president or your pastor
Priest Maccabee, I flip on tracks like trampolines
Two M-16's, til the whole White House is covered in gasoline
Palms up, knees bent, face the East...
Let's say our prayer...
[Chorus to fade]
