Made You Look (feat. Jadakiss & Ludacris) - Remix a Cappella

I need it from the top

Ah!

This is history, baby

Commissioner Steve Stoute

Lenny, ha!

God's Son, what up?

D-Block, what up?

Bravehearts, what up?

Yeah

Yeah, yo

Yo, ain't nothing 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 methadon' 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 niggas 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 'cause

'Cause they know the flow's ill just like Will was

I'm just tryna make sure that my son's wealthy

Out of shape, but I make sure that my guns healthy

I'm a ape, you can't stand 'Kiss, coming through the hood

In a Aston Vanquish, the color of dandruff

They said we jumped him, I just let the gun snuff him

Cop P the turbo soon as they uncuff him

This goes out to all of your mans

Why put you in the verse when I can put you in a coroner van?

D-Block!

They shooting! Ah, made you look

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book

Getting big money, playboy, your time's up

Where them gangsters? Where them dimes at?

They shooting! Ah, made you look

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book (yeah, whoo!)

Getting big money, playboy, your time's up (we just getting started! Oh!)

Where them gangsters? Where them dimes at? (Luda! Let's go!)

I'm from the school of hard knocks, sneak peeks and low blows

Where Xs mark spots and kitchens mark Os (whoo)

Where love's gon' get you 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 (ah)

So hear a song and dance while I make these ends

You never stood half a chance like Siamese Twins (ah)

They shooting! Look in the barrel! (Whoo)

Then he made the front page of the Miami Herald

Or Chi. Tribune, nozzles with silent doom

We in that A-Town Journal as violent goons

You should print my information (yeah), quote my rhymes

And keep me in between these New York and L.A. Times

I'm just the victim of society, it's 'Cris the Menace

With more shit out on the streets than evicted tenants, whoa!

They shooting! Ah, made you look

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book

Getting big money, playboy, your time's up

Where them gangsters? Where them dimes at?

They shooting! Ah, made you look

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book (ugh)

Getting big money, playboy, your time's up (ugh)

Where them gangsters? Where them dimes at?

(Braveheart, Braveheart, Braveheart) Jungle! Wiz! Nashawn!

We got 'em scared, look! (Braveheart, Braveheart)

We got 'em scared, they running! (Braveheart)

Yo, I grasp the ratchet, the blicky, the biscuit, the burner

The heat, the toaster, they twist you, you meeting your owner

The banger, the hammer, the flamers, I aim at the cannons

And can you, manhandling you, you'll be famous, I'll cancel you

And cut, that's the end of your movie

Pretending you acting like you and your mens'll come shoot me

My tennis shoes Gucci, old school, pea-soup green

Jean Lee suit on, Veuve Clicquot champagne

Friday the 13th, my CD drop

I rhyme to more Base than EZ Rock, I'm Jason, call up PD

Watch them Bravehearts, Jungle and Wiz and Nashawn

Ill Will, Rasta, Lake, never revealing his face on-

TV or pictures or even them niggas

Sorry that I made you wait long, glad them fakes gone

We shooting! Squeezing them triggers with Luda beside me

Me and 'Kiss get Luniz of weed sent to Styles P

Tell him hold his head, God's Son got him

We made y'all look, from San Quentin to Rikers Island to Green

Sing Sing