Lyrics Paintbrush - Black Market Militia
(Intro:
Killah
Priest)
Black
Market,
Priest
(Chorus
2X:
Killah
Priest)
We
paint
the
pictures
without
the
paintbrush
Market
hip
hop,
but
think,
gangsta
(Killah
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
shit,
we
too
militant
Soul
controller,
the
ayatollah
when
I
roll
up
Nine
eleven
shit,
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
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