Made You Look lyrics

[Intro]

Bravehearts, Bravehearts, Bravehearts…

[Verse 1]

Now let's get it all in perspective

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

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 lot of 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 with

Push the pool stick in your new crib

Same hand that you hoop with, swing around like you stupid

King of 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 bringin' '88 back

[Chorus]

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 at? Where them dimes at?

[Verse 2]

This ain't rappin', this is Street Hop

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

My live niggas lit up the reefer

Trunk of the car, we got the streetsweeper

Don't start none, won't be none

No reason for your mans to panic

You don't wanna 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 defuse 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' homies, parolees

Get money, leave the beef alone slowly

Get out my face, you people so phony

Pull out my waist, the Eagle four-forty

[Chorus]

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 at? Where them dimes at?

[Verse 3]

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-asses

Like Pun said: you ain't even en mi clasa

Maybach Benz, back seat, TV 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, let me feel how the head is

Females who's the sexiest is always the nastiest

[Outro]

And I like a little sassiness

A lot of class; Mami, reach in your bag, pass the fifth

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

My 9's will spit, niggas lose consciousness

• Artist:Nas
• Album:God's Son