[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

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