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