Made You Look Lyrics - God's Son - Nas

Bravehearts 

Uh, uh, uh, now let's get it all in perspective 

For all y'all enjoyment, a song y'all can step wit' 

Y'all appointed me to bring rap justice 

But I ain't Five-O, y'all know it's Nas-Yo 

Grey goose and a whole lotta hydro 

Only describe us as soldier survivors 

Stay laced in the best, well dressed with finesse 

In a white tee lookin' for wifey 

Thug girl who fly and talks so nicely 

Put her in the coupe so she can feel the nice breeze 

We can drive through the city no doubt 

But don't say my car's topless, say the titties is out 

Newness here's the Anthem 

Put your hand up that you shoot with, count your loot wit' 

Push the pool stick in your new crib, same hand that you hoop with 

Swing around like you stupid, king o'the town, yeah I been that 

You know I click-clack where you and your mens at? 

Do the Smurf, do the Wop, Baseball Bat 

Rooftop like we bringing '88 back 

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They shootin', Aw made you look 

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book 

Gettin' Big money, playboy your time's up 

Where them gangstas? Where them dimes at? 

They shootin', Aw made you look 

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book 

Gettin' Big money, playboy your time's up 

Where them gangstas? Where them dimes at? 

This ain't rappin', this is Street-Hop 

Now get up off your ass like your seat's hot 

My live niggas lit up the reefer 

Trunk o'the car, we got the street sweeper 

Don't start none, won't be none 

No reason for your mans to panic 

You don't want to see no ambulances 

Knock a pimp's drink down in his pimp cup 

That's the way you get Timberland'd up 

Let the music diffuse all the tension 

Baller convention, free admission 

Hustlers, dealers and killers can move swift 

Girls get close, you can feel where the tool's kept 

All my just comin' homeys, parolees 

Get money, leave the beef alone slowly 

Get out my face, you people so phoney 

Pull out my waist, the eagle fo-forty 

Photos 

They shootin', Aw made you look 

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book 

Gettin' Big money, playboy your time's up 

Where them gangstas? Where them dimes at? 

They shootin', Aw made you look 

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book 

Gettin' Big money, playboy your time's up 

Where them gangstas? Where them dimes at? 

Bravehearts 

I see niggas runnin', yo my mood is real rude 

I lay you out, show you what steel do 

Mobsters don't box, my pump shot obliges 

Every invitation to fight you punk hazas 

Like Pun said, "You ain't even en mi clasa!" 

Maybach Benz, back seat, T.V. plasma 

Ladies lookin' for athletes or rappers 

Whatever you choose, whatever you do 

Make sure he a thug and intelligent too 

Like a real thoroughbred is, show me love 

Lemme feel how the head is 

Females whose the sexiest is always the nastiest 

And I like a little sassiness, a lotta class 

Mommy reach in your bag, pass the fifth 

I'm a leader, at last this a don you wit' 

My nines'll spit, niggas loose consciousness