aus dem Album: From the Crates to the Files... The Lost Sessions *
Songtext:
[ VERSE 1: Lord Finesse ] Folien für Fenster 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
