We Both Frontin' Lyrics

I'm still lookin' at the game y'know (heh heh)
And I see that's there's a lotta niggas that's just frontin'
Basically, y'know I mean? Yo
Blinky Blink:
Yo, I'm doing 150 wildin' (uh huh)
Headin' out the city island
I see this shorty with the pretty smile and (uh huh)
Pushing a Prelude 'Hey you'
Diamond stud up in your navel
Actin' lika a course nine G's (c'mon)
A real fine queen, eyes was light green (yeah)
And had a tattoo, written in Chinese
Only 25, spent her money wise
Work out everyday, I could tell by her tummy size
Baby $ta$e:
Damn you got some funny eyes
Yea, I blink a lot, drink a lot (mmm)
You could catch me at the rink a lot (uh huh)
But enough about me, ma, you look amazing
Are you Haitian?
I'm half that and half Asian, my name is Raven, live in New Haven
Til I find the right man, my virginity, I'm savin' (uh huh)
The things I was saying, honey, might be blazin'
I took her to the Days Inn, of course
She gave in (c'mon)
No disrespect, you look nice and shit (I know)
But I ain't really tryin' to price your shit (yea, yea, so stop)
I'm sayin' I like that Platinum on your wrist
But why isn't there no ice in this?
Same reason why, baby girl, that I ain't your hair (motherf*ck, you
You the same one rockin' your home girl's gear (oh no boo, this was
In fact, why you tryin' to hate on me?
Cuz we both frontin', basically, ya heard? (Basically?)
Uhh, uhh
I be that slick thug, see me in the strip club (yea)
With Dominican chicks, about to get my dick rubbed (uh huh)
Shit, bug, how I lay up and sip Bub
You could front if you want, lay in puddles of thick blood (c'mon)
Cuz I get love, yeah, wherever I go
And I die for my niggas, but never no ho
So you know that the life I lead is twice your speed
The brown skin mami, that's the wife I need (uh huh)
Light that weed, front, nigga, just might bleed
I might just sqeeze, matter of fact I might just leave
Cuz I don't need her, ho that drink Moet by the liter
If you don't like me, I ain't fillin' your ass neither (haha)
I need a true diva, pushin' a two-seater (yea)
That's so right, let my wife, my crew meet her
In other words, I need a chick off the meter
The type that wild out when I eat her (c'mon)
Huddy Combs:
Hey, yo, Huddy, ya heard? In the door (heyyyy)
Waiter, give me four (heyyyy)
Bitches they adore (heyyyy)
>From here to Wichatah (heyyyy)
I'm a jiggy cat, baggy jeans with fitted hats (uh huh)
Where my niggas at? At the bar, where titties at
You know I spent dough, get in clubs with Indo
And bet my shit blow like a block on Crenshaw
I'm poppin' Cris, ho (uh huh)
While you sippin' on Sisqo, I'm at the disco
Reminiscin' on 'Frisco
And this go to honeys who be knowin' your name, knowing your fame
Know you rockin' Rolley and chain
But it don't stop, so get-it get-it
The Huddy hit-it hit-it (uh HUH)
She saw my ice, she was really wit-it
She wanna settle down, be committed (yea)
She saw the drop with the TVs in it
Shit, I gotta pay this ho a visit
Oh no, BooBoo
You gonna be payin' (what) anything over here except the rent (c'mon)
Yeah, you know you wanna be over here
Fake ass

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Songwriter(s): Andre Jamal Hudson, Carlton Lewis Lowe, Chauncey Lamont Hawkins, Stason S. Betha, Michael S. Forster, Jermaine Dupri
Record Label(s): 1999 On The Low
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