Yeah, check check, testingIt\'s clear out there? YeahIt\'s like I\'m hang gliding over the hood, haNever worry (ohhh, no, no, no)[Verse 1]\nCheck, let there be light\nNo gang banging in New York tonight\nJust murals of Biggie Smalls, bigger then life\nTurn up the kid mic cuz ya\'ll ain\'t listening right\nWhat\'s all this talk that Nas got bought?\nI\'d rather outlinemy body in white chalkAin\'t nobody been where I been, they at a stand stillThis is all overseen by my man Will[Chorus: Tre Williams]\nAs I walk through the shadow of death\nI know that I ain\'t got much time left\nAnd they don\'t really wanna see the good in me\nAin\'t satisfied until they see the fool in me\n(And I) I know my business, so my sins great\n(And I) I thank the hood for all the love they gave\n(And I)Forgive \'em all, they did they best to hate\nOh, let there be light\n\n[Verse 2]\nThis ain\'t the glorified, just painting the street picture\nThere\'s no God in sir Bibles, just blunt and switches\nGillettes cut pain in kitchen\nNow every rapper wanna claim he hang with Kenneth \"Supreme\" Griffith\nIt\'s likethe same difference cept when niggaz get arraigned\nThey don\'t want the same sentence, niggaz get to snitchin\nIf I could reverse the monsters and turn forward the razas\nAnd bring back the niggaz who was livest\nOld hustlers, reminscing on better days\nThey home, doing nothing, might as well be in a cage\nHating on young brothers, one foot in the grave\nThey used to love us till we found our own way thru the maze\nNew York, set trippin and flaggin\nGot the West Coast laughing, now Esco\'s asking\nWhat happened? My homegirl from upper Manhattan\nShe remembers the quarters that\'s Latin, alotta rat-a-tat-tatting\n\n[Chorus]\n\n[Verse 3]\nThe son of the audio cassette era, tech wearer\nBullets and begets, Binzbo\'s speaker terror\nTill man I get mine till I\'m dead, so I can drive sumpthin red\nLike that horse standing on it\'s hind legs\nSince Arnold and Willis in they bunk beds\nI wanted bread like Wonder, not manned-a-wanno like the parent of Lionel\nNas is the Ghetto American Idol\nNo matter what you do you\'re never getting my title\nI can\'t sound smart cuz ya\'ll\'ll run away\nThey say I ain\'t hungry no more and I don\'t talk about \'ye\nLike there\'s no other way for a ex-hustler\nCake ya, the x-ray splitter to touch ya, I beg to differ\nWhen you\'re four years into the game, we can have a conversation\nEight years in the game, I invite ya on vacation\nTen years in the game, after I\'ve enjoyed my fame\nOnly then I let ya pick my brain, niggaz\n\n[Bridge: Nas + (Tre Williams)]\n(And I) Right about now (And I) (They don\'t really know)\n(And I) (They don\'t really see) I don\'t even deal with all that garbage\n(No, no, no) We getting real right, ya know?\n(And I) (Though I walk through the valley) That is Tre Williams ladies and gentlemen\n(And I) (They should fear no) (And I) (no, no-oh)\nFocus on good things man, goodtimes, Heh-heh, alright\n\n[Chorus - 2X (with alterations)]\n\nOh let it be, let it be, yeah\nLet it be, let it be 50, Be, Brown, Chris, Dead, Game, Hip-Hop, Instrumental, Is, Kanye, Let, Light, Mobb, Nas, Nigger, Queens, Scott, There, Tre, West, Williams