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Artist: DJ Kay Slay f/ AZ, Ghostface Killah, Raekwon
Album:  More Than Just a DJ
Song:   See the Light
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: DJ Kay Slay]
More Than Just a DJ, hip hop ain't dead
Some of you niggas ears is just fucked up
AZ, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah

[Chorus 2X: Ghostface Killah "Fast Cars" sample]
I will take my time in the bushes, right
Pay the people no mind like I'm crooked, right
Shoot a nigga on down, do him something right
He on the floor, tell his grams, yo, I see the light

You know the redirect, top teir predicate
Stare, so whatever, shit, nigga, I'm a delicate
Do it for the hell of it, Brooklyn is the heritage
Home of the thoroughest, fully autos never miss
Call me the mellowest, murdering, verbalist
Ride through the turbulence, with la on the purple scent
G posture, bum rocker, gun cocker
Without the skully, I'm gully, sonny, a young Hoffa
Come papa, a kid left stunting
Homicide is nothing, I'm E.F. Hutton
Graze, gutter the grunting, days slayed are slumping
Twin K's, either wake of pie, today's is dumping
Cuffed up, or something, the buck of C's and bumping
This Drama King thing, while you ding-a-lings is munching
Rae, Ghost & A, Street Sweepers'll slay
BK, Staten Island, Manhattan, but hey

[Chorus 2X]

Straight out the bushes, yo, from Lefrac to Bushwick
Blowing kush, catch him in buildings, sting him like cushion
High powered eagles, circulate through spots like needles
Bumping and grinding, and jetting the diesel
E-classes, feeding the masses, so much hash on my land
I had to power down and cop three tractors
Living luxurious, glorious, super deluxe hustlers
This is why we stay notorious
The emperor, call me a kings mentor, spent off the real
Money's real estate, now repent war
Crime, taxes and axes and bulletproof pens
I'm bout to get an ice glove like M. Jackson
Alpine, gooseneck systems, Calv Klein
Build blast '88 niggas who kill fast
I represent the planet of real masters
Park Hillian flashers, kill you for the will or to build action

[Chorus 2X]

[Ghostface Killah]
Take me to paralyze her, drag him to Carolina
If he don't talk, stuff his mouth with the pacifier
Put his brains on his cali', make him feel the fire
Flame broil his lips, guns is lows for the appetizer
Honey roast his nuts, throat cut, leave that faggot dick like a broke dutch
Look like he woke up, bang him a cal, hanging him now
These semi autos almost took off half of his head, yo, this is Staten Island
Stay smiling, cake piling, watching our glucose
Repping forty's and brown bags, dipping from blue coats
Catch the G-Unit on a new boat, flicking it up
With new ropes, choppers banging, banging new Ghost
Applying the pressure, I bet you the K and the A will stretch ya
Leave your host, something holy like Mecca
This is real talk, blood sport, battery action
Mixed with rat poison, you punk faggots hurt, hand me your fucking package

[Chorus 2X]