k**ah Priest - The Saints lyrics

[Intro: k**ah Priest (Nas)] Uh, yeah... say it... (k**ah Priest) Nas (The Dirty Harry) The Dirty Harry, yeah... (yeah...) Uh... my gun is tingling... uh... spill drinks on me, uh... [Verse 1: k**ah 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 n***as, 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 k**er, 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 ha**le, 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 [Hook: k**ah 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... [Verse: 2 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 n***as is slipping, n***as 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 [Hook w/ ad-libs]