National Students' Union of India

I Made You Look

Intro: Jadakiss]
I need it from the top, AHHH!
This is history baby
Commissioner Steve Stoute, Lenny - ha!
God's Son, whattup?
D-Block, whattup?
Bravehearts, whattup? Yeah
Yeah, yo
[Verse One: Jadakiss]
Yo ain't nothin but trouble God
When I kick in the door with D-Block, Bravehearts and the Double R
Don't make me let the machine off
This is methadone music that you can lean off
"Made You Look," the remix with me up on it
I copped your shit, now I break weed up on it
And everything is real I see
Like my niggaz that been home but they only got a jail ID
I helped the game, it ain't help me
I'm top five dead or alive and that's just off one LP
And, I still buzz, they feel cuz
Cause they know the flow's Ill just like Will was
I'm just tryin to make sure that my sons wealthy
Out of shape but I make sure that my guns healthy
I'm a ape, you can't stand 'Kiss
Comin through the hood in a Aston Vanguish the color of dandruff
They said we jumped him, I just let the gun snuff him
Copped P then turboed soon as they uncuff him
This goes out to all of your mans
Why put you in the verse when I can put in a coroner van
D-Block
[Chorus 2X: Nas]
THEY SHOOTIN! Ah made you look
You a slave to a page in my rhyme book
Gettin big money, playboy your time's up
Where them gangsters, where them dimes at?
[Verse Two: Ludacris]
Yuh, woo! It's time to go, Luda let's go!
I'm from the school of hard knocks, sneak peeks and low blows
Where X's mark spots and kitchens mark O's
Where love is gon' getcha and hate is gon' snitch ya
And fingers squeeze triggers like boa constrictors
It's the, Mr. Luda, Jada and Nas
And our bullets give you a deep tissue massage
So hear a song and dance while I make these ends
You never stood half a chance like Siamese Twins
AHHH - THEY SHOOTIN, look in the barrel
Then he made the front page of the Miami Herald
or Chi. Tribune, nozzles with silent doom
We in that A-Town Journal-list, filed with goons
You should print my information, quote my rhyme
And keep me in between these New York and L.A. Times
I was the victim of society, it's 'Cris the menace
With mo' shit out on the streets than evicted tenants
WOOOOOOOO!
[Chorus]
[Interlude: Nas]
Uhh.. uhh..
(BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS..)
Jungle, Wiz, Nashawn!
We got 'em scared look
We got 'em scared they runnin
[Verse Three: Nas]
Yo, I grasp the ratchet, the blinker, the biscuit, the burner
The heat, the toaster, the twister you meetin your owner
The banger, the hammer, the flamers I aim at the cannons
and can ya, manhandlin ya, you'll be famous like cancer do
And cut, that's the end of your movie
Pretendin you actin like you and your mens'll come shoot me
My tennis shoes Gucci, old school pea soup green
Jean Lee suit on Beaver, clicko champagne
Friday the 13th my CD drop, I rhyme to more Base than EZ Rock
I'm Jason, call up P.D. watch
them Bravehearts, Jungle and Wiz and Nashawn
Ill Will rasta Lake, never revealin his face on
TV or pictures or even them niggaz
Sorry that I made you wait long, glad them fakes gone
[beat scratches out]
WE SHOOTIN! Squeezin them triggers with Luda beside me
Me and 'Kiss get Luniz of weed, set to Styles P.
Tell him hold his head, God's Son got him we made y'all look