"Frienemies" as written by Joseph Jones, Rudolph Bernard Isley, Christopher Howard Jasper, Ernest Isley, Marvin Isley, O'kelly Jr. Isley and Ronald Isley....
This shit is fucked up cause
Some niggas call it tough love
It's crazy cause
You might know a nigga all your life
And he got a twisted alterier motive
And he just wanna see you do bad
See a smile on your face all day
So he just acting like your friend
When he is really your enemy
Or your best friend can become your enemy
Through the the jealousy
So we call those frienemies

Knew him since a child
Played cops and robbers
My best partner grew up to be monsters
Stayed in my crib
Ate out my fridge
We was on a grind
Even wore the same clothes
My brother
Fucked the same hoes
His beef was mine
Even had the same foe
We was inseparable
Joined at the hip
I let you get the checks
I kept the joints on the hit
And what happened
The sneaky hating
Niggas in your ear
And a plan deviating
Snakes in the grass
Just waiting for the moment
Niggas on your team
And they're really your opponent
Play the game
And you know goes booments
Mama said friends come by the dozen
Know I'm feeling for their guns
When I hug em'
I hate them from a close
From a distance I could love em'

Frienemies [Repeat: x2]
The ones you kept close
The ones you love most
You know who you kiss
You know who you lift
This shit is getting scary
Frenemies [Repeat: x2]
The ones you kept secret
You had plans to make it
I smell danger
Over the money
Best friends become strangers

Bailed you out of jail
Wait let me backtrack
First you came home
Then I got your ass a deal
Fresh out the can
Signed a quater mill
Running through the paper
Buying copes and popping pills
Money got low
You started acting ill
You grew desperation
Once again you got nailed
Someone got killed
Conspiracy, and even still
I bailed you out of jail
Without me you would be facing
In a pale, barude nuders
You would be Judice
But in the process
Flew you in the world
Put diamonds on your neck
Like you were my little girl
Put money in your pocket
Like you was my son Su
Food in your stomach
Like you was my son Pooh
The streets talk
Heard you partnered Tru
Now you talking shit
Like you really wanna do it
A will-wack
The type that deceive you
Your mama should have told you
Never bite the hand that feed you
Caught me off guard
I met you through my man
I let my guards down
And accepted you as fam
Told you get a chair
Let you eat at the table
Never thought that he would be ungrateful
But guess what
I own the pub and the label
So if a nigga feeling itchy
I got killers on the paper


Hope y'all paying attention
Keep y'all eyes open
Hope I ain't wasting my breathe
About this shit that I'm talking about
Cause it's so real
You gotta watch these niggas around you
Cause you never know whose who now a days
And all of our love we be showing
They might not be showing the same type of love back
Matter of fact
They might not be in there for your best interest
See an alterier motive is hard to see when
You've known a person for so long, or
You've became a custom to their ways
But you gotta stay on 50
You gotta stay on 50
Cause, you got some people that
Think like, if niggas is moving fast like that
Then karma will get em'
But sometimes karma don't come around fast enough
To handle the situation
But sometimes for us to learn a lesson
We go way to far
Then the consequences become way too heavy
That's what I'm trying to let learn from experience
And please don't be naive to the fact that
The nigga next to you could be the nigga that set you up for failure
Or even kill you
You know how the game go
And you gotta watch these bitches
These trifling bitches man they set you up for failure too
You know they're in there for the money man
Gold digging bitches
It's a fucked up world
But you probably won't even get a chance
You know, might put you up in a gang

Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Frienemies" as written by Ernest Isley Christopher Howard Jasper

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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