Priddy Ugly - Spiritual Warfare Lyrics
verse 1
The physical realm is in spiritual warfare
Demons, angels and humans and spirits are all there
Devil's singing hymns and he's preaching the lord's prayer
Priests are raping the children, on bibles they all swear
Respect the soil, when you die you gon fall there
And you don't burry yourself, that's word to the pallbearer
Karma is a bitch and when she's with us smell like dog hair
And cloth tears pray your material god spares
We're crying salt tears
Men are killing our women, don't think the law cares
Missing kids and I pray for parents that lost theirs
The pearly gates are narrow
We're climbing on some broad stairs
Really I'm the god in my bar ?
You outta shape, run big circles 'round your small squares
I'm like the sun, you can look but you can't stare
Sorta like Medusa is my mom, now you're all scared
Reach into your soul, deep into your soul
Tweak the features of your soul because the reaper wants your soul
You the keeper of your goal
Better keep your arm of gold
Keep a secret envelope
Now ? the thief a pot of gold
Yeah I'm on a roll
So much heat, my speakers on the stove
Keep your karma close
You're under oath s keep your honour though
With the flows I'm a garden hose
My art is cold, with a heart of gold
The soils will reap what the farmer sows
They signing slave deals
No wonder their bags are bleeding
Stretching your character so all of you actors reachin'
I know her ass appealing, don't give her wretched semen
Or get a kid that it wasn't your plan on keeping
I stay schemin', reading maps and meanin'
And day-dreamin' when the sun slapped the evening
Saw Mars dance with Venus
?
Fake pastors they preaching
They praying, you catching demons
Reach into your soul, deep into your soul
Tweak the features of your soul because the reaper wants your soul
You the keeper of your goal
Better keep your arm of gold
Keep a secret envelope
Now ? the thief a pot of gold
Yeah I'm on a roll
So much heat, my speakers on the stove
Keep your karma close
You're under oath s keep your honour though
With the flows I'm a garden hose
My art is cold, with a heart of gold
The soils will reap what the farmer sows
