bitches all gettin' sucked in Booty model shake your ass but you're broke bitch Man you niggaz ain't brawling in the bull pin Riding on the black mag
shroud, ebon tower, onyx crown. Witchfire, black citadel, frost-shrouded steel, moon-veiled spell. The skyqueen of the dead rides forth, black storm
I've felt the high of experience Holdin' a woman Gettin good lovin' Comin to reality My thoughts start to blend I've seen things I can't explain But hope
Like a night frightened child This is his story It's a tough one for me to sing Hard as the squawk and the flap And the beat of, the beat of black wings
I'm the latest apparition Cutting slices in the night I come through without permission Moving in and out of human sight I'm the tapping on your shoulder
late - but it's never too late for that lovin my sexy babe I used to cry but now I have to laugh because she's got that torment to a fine art smart
It's time to take your last walk in this world before your journey begins underground. Not before we torment you from your cell, straight to hell! With
from their earthen prisons Bodies decayed beyond recognition, they amass, prepare nightmares from the darkest recess of your imagination Tormented by
rejection My world turns black Cursed by the shadows Poison injection Body infection Death reflection Life rejection ...Fear... Crying... Screaming... ...Pain... Agony... Anguish... ...Torment... Suffering... ...Black
though, is steady as hell I prevail on scales like Beethoven The mic in my hand conducts the same motion Why do I slice precise like Jack the Ripper? Triple round, dressed in black
Chorus 2x: Killah Priest] Come with me thru the thick fog Past the morgue Past the projects where the gats go off Burn thru the black widows web with
Till the palbearers close the casket And that's it, the end of the chapter The beginnin of the next one The resurrection, imperfection, after death come The black
Priest] My mind is haunted, filled with the extension of slaves that's torment Slow down my steps, one foot from the grave to con it Our young black males
got nothin to hide I'm bout cuttin Go out in a blaze Wouldn't pop one button I'm a murk half hurt leave the cop dogs huntin The pretty black one in the
, so stop and gimme my props, kid I'm livin' large like a fat bitch So get back, bitch, I'm hard to Bogart for the fagots This young black kid, a mercenary
for killin' Aztecs in distortion Front page news for the projects Carried the weight for his mom's operation 25 years workin' for the train station 'Cause he was black
Cry Little Dead Again, Cry Little Dead Stare Into Black T.V.'s And Wonder When These Things Alone At Night, They Bring Me Death If I'm Alone Tonight,
, trained in apathy Intellect repulsed, your torn And death will have a face Ravage passion, a theme for the 90's Tormented deviants, when fucking becomes
