* 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 n***as 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'mma 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, n***a, I pull your muthafuckin card

[ Hook (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, ho"
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

[ Hook ]

[ VERSE 3: Lord Finesse ]
Nowadays you got jerks frontin
The softest n***as 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 n***as 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 n***as 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 n***a") 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, n***a, I pull your muthafuckin card