[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



[Chorus: 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 Kain, 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 niggaz 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



[Chorus]



[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

Osato 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, deduction of feet

King David gave me the book of psalms

Huey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms

Learn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm

Mohammed Alai Salam, 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 Bay, secret sciences and forces

Exist all around us, my soldiers never fold

Black Market require readin' the dead street scrolls



[Chorus]



[Outro: Killah Priest]

The desert eagles...