Testi Gotta Eat - Killah Priest

Gotta Eat

My .44 calicol will silence yЂ™all soulsmasada\nThe ghost of the most prolific writer\nUpon my death bed in roast in fire\nSee my most desires\nSmell the smoke from my flesh as my ghost rise up\nHear the voices of 100 choirs\nAnd angels looking down at my body attached to wires\nPriest kissed by the widow spider that spit saliva\nI write for lifers and boxers at rikers\nI write pain\nBlue ink replaced the blood in my veins\nThug in this gameflooded up rings\nCluttered up changequick to pop a slug in your brain\nIf you a killerthen slugs we exchange\nWe like the mobstersbullet shells and choppers\nCop cars and road blockersthey tryin to knock us\nCatch us duck behind the bitchesdЂ™s tryin to pop us\nOn cbs news while the world watch us\nI do this shit for my thugs\nI do this shit for the chicks at the club\nI do this shit for the niggas that I love\nI do this shit for the streetscause a nigga gotta eatluv (2x)\nI write theories thatЂ™s motion picturesyЂ™all hear me?\nI spit it clearly to roast yЂ™all niggasfeel me?\nGangsterlife of a don my icon\nSling on my right armrubber grip tight in my left arm\nBody suited with teflonitЂ™s brooknam\nRaise a eyebrow at the childrespectfully bow\nPay hommagegold studs in my garment\nHot slugs miss me cause IЂ™m god-sent\nIf it hit meitЂ™s godЂ™s wish\nNo man taketh a lifeIЂ™m late in the night\nCatch me in the hood shakin the dice\nContemplatin a heist\nSome say my team is satanЂ™s alike\nCartelpop shells till our heart fails\nBrooknama.k.a. roswell\nClappin at the spaceship\nBitches with fake tits\nAt nightclubs\nWe live the life of a true thug\nI feel a holy spirit comin on me\nMy lifestyle: based on a true story\nRead the credits: name appears alphabetic\nOn clear film with no edits\nMasada bleedin in the hands of medics\nPriestI live it epic\nSpoke on recordsmajestic\nPhysique: I stand six feet\nObserve my posturemy clickЂ™s deep\nDirectorЂ™s editionjust listen\nThe words breathe on my sheetI write a novel\nSpeak on behalf of every slain apostle\nMy slangЂ™s hostilesay my name as gospel\nMasadapop 2 through the confession booth\nDonЂ™t say nothinpull my weapon and shoot\nBullets wettin their suits\nHerutЂ™s lady put death in my shoes\nCats die violent in warsilence the .4\nThe fall slow motionseen the silent applause