• God's Son
    Seznam skladeb na albu
  • God's Son

    Made You Look

    Made you look

    [shotgun blast][old school break beat, thugs chant "Bravehearts!" 7X][Verse 1: Nas]
    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 wifie
    Thug girl who fly and talks so nicely
    Put her in the coupe so she can feel the nice breeze
    We can drive thru 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 stu-pid, king'a the town, yeah I been that
    You know I click-clack where you and yor men's at
    Do the Smurf, do the Wop, Baseball Bat
    Rooftop like we bringing '88 back

    [Chorus: Nas]
    They shootin'! -- Aw made you look
    You a slave to a page in my rhyme book
    Gettin' Big/"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/"big" money, playboy your time's up
    Where them gangstas at? Where them dimes at?

    [Verse 2: Nas]
    This ain't rappin, this is Street-Hop
    Now get up off your ass like your seat's hot
    My live niggaz lit up the reefer
    Trunk'a 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 diffuse all the tension
    Ball or convention, free admission
    Hustlers, dealers and killers'ca move swift
    Girls get close, you'ca 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 phoney
    Pull out my waist, the eagle fo-forty

    [Chorus][thugs chanting "Bravehearts!" 4X over DJ scratching gunshots][Verse 3: Nas]
    I see niggaz 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, 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
    Lemme feel how the head is
    Females whose the sexiest is always the nastiest
    [record scratched off, Nas rhymes acapella]
    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, niggaz loose consciousness

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