Made You Look (Remix) [feat. Jadakiss & Ludacris]

I need it from the top, ahh

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 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 **** 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 tryna 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 Vanquish the color of dandruff

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

Copped 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 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?

They shootin'

Ah, made you look

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book

(Yeah, woo)

Gettin' big money, playboy, your time's up

(We just gettin started, let's go)

(Luda, let's go)

Where them gangsters at?

Where them dimes at?

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

Where Xs mark spots and kitchens mark Os

Where love's gon' get ya and haters 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

(Ahh)

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 as violent goons

You should print my information

(Yeah)

Quote my rhyme

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

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

With mo' shit out on the streets than evicted tenants, woo

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?

They shootin'

Ah, made you look

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book

(Uh)

Gettin' big money, playboy, your time's up

(Uh)

Where them gangsters at?

Where them dimes at?

(Bravehearts)

Jungle!

(Bravehearts)

Wiz! Nashawn!

(Bravehearts)

We got 'em scared, look

(Bravehearts)

We got 'em scared, they runnin', 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, I'll cancel you

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, Veuve Clicquot 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 ****

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

We shootin'

Squeezing them triggers with Luda beside me

Me and 'Kiss get loonies 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 plus Marion