* 2003 Fat Beats Records version
[ VERSE 1: Lord Finesse ]
I wonder how brothers` heads are screwed on
When they frontin around town with the next man jewels on
Talkin `bout they could`ve been a star
Sportin turned off beepers, drivin around in rented cars
That only happens in America
When you catch a brother frontin with a turned off cellular
Out there tryin to jingle
Like he`s the muthafuckin man and got a knot full of singles
And always half-steppin
Cause even at a dice game niggas gotta start ass-bettin
They have the whole plan plotted
Till you say, Celo, everybody pay up, they yell: (My man gotta)
Kickin game at random
His favorite line is: (Don`t worry, I`ma hit you off when my man come)
And how claim he got power
When he doesn`t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of
And always frontin like the other kids
Not a dime to his name and still livin in his mother`s crib
So why you`re frontin like you`re large?
Don`t front on me, nigga, I pull your muthafuckin card
[ CHORUS (4X) ]
Pull they cards, yo, tell em how you feel
I gotta it lay it on down (on the real to real) --> Large Professor
[ VERSE 2: Lord Finesse ]
Nowadays hoes is ahead of ya
(Why you say that?) Cause bitches be frontin on the regular
For instance, take the neighborhood freak
Let her get a outfit and her hair done and the bitch won`t speak
Frontin and actin all fly
But pull up in a 535 and homegirl`ll be like: (Hi...)
Girls kick the same old song
(As long as he got money everything is alright) Wrong
Yo, she`s all out of order
When she barely keeps a quarter lookin for a brother to support her
Hangin out and she stay frontin
Wear the tightest shit and get mad when a muthafucka say somethin
Catch homegirl walkin through
And be like: (What`s up shorty?) She be like: (Who you think you talkin to?)
Me, I`m quick to say, Walk, hoe
And save that conversation for a talk show
You wanna know what Finesse think?
I don`t give sluts enough to make they muthafuckin breath stink
Especially when they frontin like stars
I shout ya out, bitch, and pull your muthafuckin card
[ CHORUS ]
[ VERSE 3: Lord Finesse ]
Nowadays you got jerks frontin
The softest niggas talkin `bout they wanna hurt somethin
Matter of fact, I know plenty of frauds
The way brothers act, they deserve muthafuckin Emmy Awards
Nowadays brothers ruin rap
With all this murder and the killin when them niggas don`t be doin that
You startin to bore me, fellas
Y`all ain`t murderers, but yo, y`all great fuckin storytellers
I speak what I feel
And if niggas ain`t real, then keep they fuckin lip sealed
Because they front like vandals
Runnin all them scandals when they softer than Tevin Campbell
(I kill a nigga) That`s what most say
When they wouldn`t shoot a fly off the wall if they had a can of roach spray
So why you`re frontin like you`re hard?
Don`t front on me, nigga, I pull your muthafuckin card
