Son of God's Son: "Made You Think"

A response to NaS' "Made You Look", cast in the original's lyrical flow

Let's shape this hook in a new direction
Take edification, a taste of correct sh--
You know I waited long to give this a retool
Slow, but still street, fool, y’all know how Pete do
Keep it clean, deep inside the beat, too
Maintain a vibe you imbibe, cool as ice cubes
Well paced, no stress
Dressed with finesse in pastel
Puff or pass to me, pal
Wife sharp as a knife, plus she's like "...mmm, POW"
Put us on the F train—F’ cars, they insane now
If we could drive through the city, like de nada
You'd see us in a hybrid Prius en la esplanada
Petro-free style, it's Pedro's freestyle
Get up your hand, child, that ya fuel your coupe with
Slurp soup with, burp your little papoose with
Same hand that you hoop with
Raise a fist, we ain’t stupid
Streetballer? Yeah I be that
You know my steez
I rain threes. "Splash!"
Ya do the 'Smurf,''Wop,' 'Baseball Bat'
That Souljaboy, that super—-naw, buck that

I mean yooooou! – Aw made you dance
Moving to a groove, put you in a trance
Getting light-headed? Breathe like it's yr last chance
Where’s them gods at? Where the truth at?

He provin'! – Aw made you think
Got thirst for knowledge, take a long drink
Getting light-headed? Life sped up, don’t blink
Where’s them gods at? Where the truth at?

This is happening, this how Pete rock
Now get up off your ass, shake the whole block
My kush cousin, spark up the trees, sir
Funk in the trunk? Get krunk if it please, girl
Don’t start none, won’t be none
No reason for you kids be trippin
Just want to see you sway your hips and
Sip $8 drinks, holla, pounds up
That’s how you pop-a-collar in this house, what
Let the music diffuse all the tension
Divine intervention, death protection
Hustlers and players stay on the grind
Lady move in time, we can grind to the tune fine
All my outta-towners, count the hours
Spend mad paper, take a bath, let it shower
Make it rain? You people so crazy
Pull out my waist, sizzurp and purple hazey

They blazing! – Aw that's just smoke
Why you front? Nature gave us the blunt, toke
Getting light-headed? Chill, boy, don’t choke
Where’s them gods at? Where the truth at?

I seen dudes puzzling, yo my mood is dark-brewed
Wire you up just like the feds do
Heads don’t snitch, now they live by a street rule
Let a stool pigeon fly the coop? Nah, they turn cruel
NaS told kids, "learn more, change the globe"
Yet this honor code kill mode, keeps it real…tragic
Whether virtual reality or the physical classic
Whatever you do, whatever you choose
Stay true to yourself, versatile too
Like a renaissance man is. Ask my friends
See they never understand this
How I manage my flow over QB standards
With just enough nastiness to top the class
Baby reach in your stash, pass the spliff
Ignite like Fela, rule the nation on a boom-bap tip
Rewrite slick, eclipse the edit like a lunatic

(Fela Kuti portrait,
courtesy of Discoid Terrorist)