(feat. Lakim Shabazz (Flavor Unit))



(Ooh

What you say

Come on)



My deejay is dope, def, real death-defyin

Competators, get with mental def tryin

The number one candidate, his hands'll make

Dancers dance, he possess the hands of fate

He'll scratch a record that will stand

Out from the rest that's def, and he'll jam

Anywhere at any given time and thrill fans

Totally blindfold his cuts will still slam

Harder than the average, make a savage kid

Nervous, the perfect combination had to get

Funkier than funk itself, now haven't you heard

He sharpens his claws for damagin a nerd

Just with the power, plus time to mutilate

You can't escape, don't even try to retaliate

Cee Just, do that shit, they thought you slipped

They didn't know that you were smoother than Cool Whip

Now prove it to em ( *cuts* ) scratch

Pull it back ( *cuts* ) yeah, I like that

Energetic, enthusiastic

Cuts are drastic, knowledge the tactics

Faster than a centipede. and all that he need 

Is two tables and a crossfader to make the record bleed

Deejay of the year, got the number one candidate

And he possess the hands of fate



(Disc jock)

(Come on)



Deejays left to right throw in their white flags

The way that he scratch you think the record had crashed

Back and forth, forth and back as he'll attack 

The turntable, that's why he's labelled an acrobat

You need to resign or take a spring break

First you was hard, now you're soft like a ice cream cake

Try to compete with the elite is a silly stunt

He'll smoke the crossfader like a Philly blunt

Manifest skills on the wheels of steel

The one-man band never ran, and he never will

He's a hitman, who's gonna be the next hit?

You wanna battle, you better bring your best shit

Courage, heart, balls, cuts

After all that you still get crushed like a wall nut

Damn, the brother's nice, I make em do a quicker slice

Sendin em toy deejays back to Fisher Price

Hard to categorize or analyze

The way that he scratch leave deejays paralyzed

Crisp and clean like a fully loaded magazine

The track is mean, he's prepared to rag a teen

Deejay Cee Just, he cuts, you couldn't beat us 

Even if you were to cheat us

Stun ya, make you wonder how can he make

A record rag so much, he got the hands of fate



(He's Cee Just)



Sharper than a straight blade are my rhyme skills

They attack with the impact of a minefield

And I ain't even started to get loose yet

Turn up your Alpine, e.q. your gooseneck

Ladies say "aw!", fellas say "ho!"

Prepare to undergo 

Lyrical surgery, you're gonna get hit, slayed

Rhymes'll crack your spine and bust your rib cage

I can't calculate the rappers I take out

Before the battle is through, most of them break out

I never lose, I aim to win

I'm just a rebel, killin like a Devil Tasmanian

To take a deejay out is a bear task

Who's def, he'll make you lose your breath like tear gas

Just, cut it up, cold smash the break

Show the people you possess the hands of fat