Paintbrush

[Intro: Killah Priest]<br>Black Market, Priest<br><br>[Chorus 2X: Killah Priest]<br>We paint the pictures without the paintbrush<br>Market hip hop, but think, gangsta<br><br>[Killah Priest]<br>Photography is like a movie film<br>Astrology is like I move through realms<br>Prodigy melodically, I produce a gem<br>Like cole, I dig deep into your eternal soul<br>I speak a journal, like your fortune told<br>Ya`ll some purple, and light ya weed and blow a circle<br>I right the dead street scrolls, it`s rare like the Devil`s love letters<br>Let this essence of this thug, bless ya<br>Dream of Black Israel, the fetus of a baby Jesus<br>Seed of Emmanuel, see a man, in his cell, a breather<br>I need one, my weed`s done, throw away the roach<br>Get close, with the man, with the most witcha<br>I draw pictures without paint, with the ink<br>When I think, the sun and moon, stars, link<br>It`s like sixteen bars, get in sink<br>I`m like the author Alex Halley<br>Ridin` the, last note, before Malcolm was buried<br>I`m the artist, and what I do with markers<br>I color in words, like I`m two years old<br>All I need is a fubius code<br><br>[Tragedy Khadafi]<br>I say yes yes ya`ll, they try to handcuff the God<br>Armani specs with night vision, I see ya`ll<br>Deep as the mind of Solomon, the metropolitan<br>Model women, like Cleopatra, they try to swallow in<br>My pilgrimage, straight to the hood, the children follow `em<br>Thug gentlemen, rockin` Timberlands, suade cinnamon<br>The radio don`t play our shit, we too militant<br>Soul controller, the ayatollah when I roll up<br>Nine eleven shit, that I spit, the hood blow up<br><br>[Hell Razah]<br>Aiyo hold up, angels cry, the ghetto for dead souls<br>We left on this globe, tryin` to crawl out the bottomless hole<br>Live it out, before the book of life close<br>I was told from the first few sentences, written in Genesis<br>Seven six, God gave me a gift, I exist<br>From a family, of kings and queens, and blacksmiths<br>We build like Harold O`Biff, add up the hype<br>Liftin` the whiff, and get while we equal infinite<br>It`s Black Market militant, Hebrew immigrants<br>They check the pyramid, to see for my finger prints<br>From New York to Palastine, if you could travel in time<br>You realize, who was God`s bloodline<br>Why the dead bury the dead, the blind leadin` the blind<br>The makers of the fathers and nines, fathers and crimes<br>That climb on the mountain of Sear, evil drink from the fountain of fear<br>Got men drowin` in tears, countin` on his birthday years<br>We break bread at a table, with thirteen chairs, and long beards