Ludacris — Made Ya Look

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Текст Ludacris — Made Ya Look

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
Grey Goose and a whole lot of 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 can drive through 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 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 gangstas? 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 gangstas at? Where them dimes at?
This ain’t rappin’, this is Street Hop
Now get up off yo’ ass like your seat’s hot
My live niggas lit up the reefer

Trunk of 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 defuse all the tension
Baller convention, free admission
Hustlers, dealers and killers can move swift
Girls get close, you can 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 four-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 gangstas? 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 gangstas at? Where them dimes at?
I see niggas 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-asses
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 who’s the sexiest is always the nastiest
And I like a little sassiness
A lot of class; Mami, reach in your bag, pass the fifth
I’m a leader at last, this a don you with
My 9’s will spit, niggas lose consciousness