feat. Canibus
  
  [Intro: Killah Priest]
  Yea, yea, yea, yea.
  Yea, yea. Fuck that!
  I'm set it off. Yea, yea, ya shitted.
  Ya in some shit now, son.
  It's on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
  I'm back! Fuck that shit!
  Ready to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and e'rything, son.
  I'ma prove this shit, right here.
  Me and my nigga. What!?
  
  [Killah Priest]
  The emperor, chief sinister, street minister
  Guarenteed in two bars to finish ya
  React like a cat when he arches back
  Give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap
  I'm a vocalist, nigga, supposed to rip
  Last Poet's told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist
  Then I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick
  What now, nigga? Look at ya, talk shit
  Can't do it, cuz you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth
  And I know ya just tired of me, beatin ya out
  Ya trained all year, in a karate class
  It took one second, to put yo' ass in a body bag
  >From a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last
  I like to pop shit, don't get me started
  I slap y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in kindegarten
  Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
  Now watch this, I'ma call my whole mothafuckin squadron
  And tell niggaz to just start robbin
  Cuz y'all niggaz is fucked up
  and Brooklyn niggaz is really ready to get ya
  I know how to hit ya, and cut ya open
  But don't worry, cuz I'ma stitch ya, with a rusty screwdriver
  
  [Chorus: Killah Priest]
  Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, real shit
  Call up yo' clicks to this, it's realness
  You feel this in yo' streets and village
  Spare that new shit, Priest killed it
  Y! Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, real shit
  Call up yo' clicks to this, it's realness
  You feel this in yo' streets and village
  Spare that new shit, 'bus killed it
  
  [Canibus]
  Yo, yo, yo
  Yo I'm a Macabeast MC and I possess the ability
  To run at top speed without bendin my knees
  I destory shit, pin-point asteroids in orbit
  Then, hurl niggaz thousands of miles an hour, towards it
  Fuckin heathen, wrap my hands around ya neck region
  Then I start squeezin 'til ya stop breathin
  You weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya tongues
  I knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya lungs
  Hit ya wit a blow your physical frame could never sustain
  You'll probably never walk ever again
  Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin stiff
  Pull you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
  Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the Iron, bitch
  You can't rhyme bitch, the one triple nine's mine bitch
  The pain'll make ya voice change octaves
  >From low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
  We judge MC's by they lyrical fitness
  And punish DJ's for puttin corny stickers on they mixes
  Smack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
  You'll be scared to leave the club wit us
  You scratch my back, I'll scratch your's bitch
  I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausage
  I got an atomic sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
  Ready to spill ya crimson-colored blood
  The four horsemen on the back of four quadropeds
  Puttin four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
  (There it is!) So bop ya heads to that, uh (There it is!)
  
  [Chorus]
  
  [Outro: Killah Priest]
  Fuckin pussy emcee's, gon' get a shot in the eye
  Y'all niggaz talk behind nigga's backs
  Y'all niggaz better bop ya mothafuckin heads before we blow it off
  Ya fuckin perfume missin idiots
  Y'all niggaz always runnin, go run and tell that
  Go on, runnin, run behind somebody's back
  Run and tell that and take these fuckin slugs wit ya
  We gon' get ya mothafuckin clown
  Yea...