Song: Made You Look ~~ 2002 ~~ 3:23
Artist: Nas
LP/CD: God’s Son ~~ Columbia ~~ 2002
Composers: Gibbs~Lordan~Jones

Bravehearts
Bravehearts
Bravehearts
Bravehearts
Bravehearts

Uh, uh, uh
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’
Gray 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 wifey
Thug girl who fly and talks so nicely
Put her in the Coupe so she can feel the nice breeze
We could drive through the city no doubt
But don’t say my car’s topless, say the ??? 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

(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 gangsters, 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 gangsters, where them dimes at

This ain’t rappin, this is Street-Hop
Now get up off you’re a** like your seat’s hot
My live n****s lit up the reefer
Trunk in the car, we got the street sweeper
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 Timberlaned up
Let the music diffuse all the tension
Ball or convention, free admission
Hustlers, dealers and killers could move swift
Girls get close, you could 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 fo-forty

(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 gangsters, 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 gangsters, where them dimes at

Bravehearts
Bravehearts
Bravehearts
Bravehearts

I see n****s 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 a**es
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 whose the sexiest is always the nastiest
And I like a little sassiness, a lotta class
Mami, reach in your bag, pass the fifth
I’m a leader, at last this a Don you with
My nines’ll spit, n****s loose consciousness

Transcribed by: Char Star
Uploaded on: March 29, 2003