Ludacris - Made Ya Look (Remix) lyrics

[Produced by Salaam Remi] [Intro: Jadakiss] I need it from the top, ah! This is history baby Commissioner Steve Stoute, Lenny - ha! God's Son, whattup? D-Block, whattup? Bravehearts, whattup? [Verse 1: Jadakiss] 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 sh**, now I break weed up on it And everything is real I see Like my n***as 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 Vanquish 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 [Hook - Nas] They shooting! 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 2: Ludacris] 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 ma**age 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 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, 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' sh** out on the streets than evicted tenants [Verse 3: 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 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 n***as 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, set 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