The Saints Feat Nas Lyrics - Killah Priest

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[Intro: Killah Priest (Nas)]
Uh, yeah... say it... (Killah Priest) Nas
(The Dirty Harry) The Dirty Harry, yeah... (yeah...)
Uh... my gun is tingling... uh... spill drinks on me, uh...

[Killah Priest]
The reep of presents, I reach for my weapon, stressing
Compulsive disorder, I step closer to the alter
Confessions, a preacher touches my dome, I soak in the water
My presence is there, but I can't see it quite clear
But I can feel it, next to my nine, there's a bottle
And there's a spirit, I feel sheer bliss
I've been baptivised, but I still feel bad vibes
From niggas, used to shoot fair ones, but now we pull guns
Quicker, I took a lip from the liquor
Took a hit of the L, the mixture, had me feeling sicker
Paint a dark picture that flicker, load my clip up with shells
The air got thicker... two more shots of Tequila
Stare at the mirror, the face is too familiar
The reflections of a true killer, whose real
Though I'm drunk, I pick up my pump
Stand looking like Huey, but slumped
It's Nostradam' and Saint Thomas, with the uzi in front
My Garden of Eden is apartment where they puff they trees and
The serpents alerting through the weak secretions
The earth's scent from a furnace, quiet, Priest is teaching
Big Apple's a hassle, project tabernacles
Telling stories through the urban tattoos
Bullet wounds, some serving capsules
Thug Vatican, Priest lounging between two Greek statues
You try to front, and the heat'll clap you

[Chorus: Killah Priest w/ ad-libs]
The Priest, the Nasarite, top 5, dead or alive
Crime cardinals, from Allah's school
Israelite books, we both crooks
True don, let's get it on, word is bond
He's God's Son, I'm the dark one...
Yo, I'm the Priest, he's the Nasarite, top 5, dead or alive
Crime cardinals, from Allah's school
Israelite books, we both crooks
True don, let's get it on, word is bond
He's the God Son, but I'm the dark one...

[Nas]
My pen's a paintbrush, with coloring books of gangstas
Ho's who never change it's tampoon, thinking
Hot as a bullet that went in Abe Lincoln
Your page is the inkaholic, addict for drinking
The hundred proof truth, pouring down my platinum ink pen
Niggas is slipping, niggas forgetting
The child of Medusa's risen, twisted snake heads
You should envision, ice grill ya'll to stone
Hypnotism, born with intuition
As an infant to keep me living, my moms fought off bats
Giant size, flap your wings, sicks with attack
Crying eyes, the next rapper king to react
The science God, is to know thy self
To civilize those around you'se a slow process
I release on my own recognence
My sirconscious, on a track as bomb as this one
Ear's to intertwine with, I kick a verse
Til M.C.'s get the curse

[Chorus w/ ad-libs]

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