[Killah Priest]
The prophecies of a poor man end on a train
Take his last breath
Slumps over drops his last bit of change
A mother pacing by her window pane
Staring hopeless at the gentle rain
When the messenger returns telling her
That her child was slain
She reaches for his picture frame
Open up the good book read the scriptures
And sighs his name
The skies full of flames
Streets are gothic
Twelve niggaz lay dead in front of their projects
Reminding D's of a classic mob hit
Bitches gossip, about they men being targets, or suspects
Niggaz in the lab taking golden seal
For tomorrows drug test
Scared niggaz hugging they techs
Don't want to get plugged next
Outside there's a bloodfeast
We all product, faced with hard luck
Since the wrath of God struck
Now we like
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