[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 x4]

[Large Professor] Pull they cards, yo, tell em how you feel

I gotta it lay it on down (on the real to real)



[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