Dead Street Scrolls

[Intro: Killah Priest] Black Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here Right there, Black Market, Black Market Walk with us, yeah, the album's here now Happenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah [Hook: Killah Priest, Hell Razah] The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry The dead street scrolls [Hell Razah] Hold my hands, let's take a stroll It was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds They thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul Diablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes My holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem My home sweet home, where the Christ was grown Now it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light Check your 25 to life, over ice cream cones What you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own When you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders We in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper It's Abel and Cain, way before labels and fame Brothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain Teardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket Don't have me write it backwards [Killah Priest] I reinvented myself, restored what was before The Heavy Mental instrumentals explored Vintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects See it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts Street fillers, from dealers to killers And I went buck, fifties across they face This goes out, to hood niggas that lost they way Mom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned We got plans to take the whole hood corporate Dollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em We neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines Priest, the streets real, feel what I speak This is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat Pharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's I ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug' Is love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids Kick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig I spit the realest words, comin' from the hood C-4, cock bells, Market is all good Got the negro's written in the dead street scrolls Pictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes We arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole When our others box with God, I let my heat go For the people like Huey P., we the lost generation Til the preacher reads, our human plee [Hook] [Tragedy Khadafi] I write novels like Claude Brown Manchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round Sun Tzu gave me The Art of War Robert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing Assata told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots My ancestors, those who came before me Elijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat From the pig intestine, the guts, and the feet King David gave me the book of psalms Huey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms Learn the ways of the prophet from Khalil Gibran Muhammad alayhi salām, from the Qu'ran Iceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don William Cooper showed me the pale horses I studied with John Baines, secret sciences and forces Exist all around us, my soldiers never fold Black Market require readin' the dead street scrolls [Hook] [Outro: Killah Priest] The desert eagles..