Ron Browz - Paintbrush lyrics

[Intro: k**ah Priest] Black Market, Priest [Chorus 2X: k**ah Priest] We paint the pictures without the paintbrush Market hip hop, but think, gangsta [k**ah Priest] Photography is like a movie film Astrology is like I move through realms Prodigy melodically, I produce a gem Like cole, I dig deep into your eternal soul I speak a journal, like your fortune told Ya'll some purple, and light ya weed and blow a circle I right the dead street scrolls, it's rare like the Devil's love letters Let this essence of this thug, bless ya Dream of Black Israel, the fetus of a baby Jesus Seed of Emmanuel, see a man, in his cell, a breather I need one, my weed's done, throw away the roach Get close, with the man, with the most witcha I draw pictures without paint, with the ink When I think, the sun and moon, stars, link It's like sixteen bars, get in sink I'm like the author Alex Halley Ridin' the, last note, before Malcolm was buried I'm the artist, and what I do with markers I color in words, like I'm two years old All I need is a fubius code [Tragedy Khadafi] I say yes yes ya'll, they try to handcuff the God Armani specs with night vision, I see ya'll Deep as the mind of Solomon, the metropolitan Model women, like Cleopatra, they try to swallow in My pilgrimage, straight to the hood, the children follow 'em Thug gentlemen, rockin' Timberlands, suade cinnamon The radio don't play our sh**, we too militant Soul controller, the ayatollah when I roll up Nine eleven sh**, that I spit, the hood blow up [Hell Razah] Aiyo hold up, angels cry, the ghetto for dead souls We left on this globe, tryin' to crawl out the bottomless hole Live it out, before the book of life close I was told from the first few sentences, written in Genesis Seven six, God gave me a gift, I exist From a family, of kings and queens, and blacksmiths We build like Harold O'Biff, add up the hype Liftin' the whiff, and get while we equal infinite It's Black Market militant, Hebrew immigrants They check the pyramid, to see for my finger prints From New York to Palastine, if you could travel in time You realize, who was God's bloodline Why the dead bury the dead, the blind leadin' the blind The makers of the fathers and nines, fathers and crimes That climb on the mountain of Sear, evil drink from the fountain of fear Got men drowin' in tears, countin' on his birthday years We break bread at a table, with thirteen chairs, and long beards