You know, critics, man
Critics never got nothin' nice to say, man
You know, the one thing I notice about critics, man
Is critics never ask me how my day went
Well, I'ma tell 'em
Yesterday my dog died
I hog tied a ho, tied her in a bow
Said: Next time you blog, try to spit a flow
You wanna criticize, dog? Try a little mo'
I'm so tired of this I could blow, fire in the hole
I'm fired up, so fire up the lighter and the dro
Better hold on a little tighter, here I go
Flows tighter, hot-headed as Ghost Rider
Cold-hearted as Spiderman throwing a spider in the snow
So you better get lower than Florida
Inside of a lowrider with no tires, in a hole
Why am I like this? Why is winter cold?
Why is it when I talk I'm so biased to the hoes?
Listen, dog, Christmas is off, this is as soft as it gets
This isn't golf, this is a blistering assault
Those are your wounds, this is the salt, so get lost
Shit, dissin' me is just like pissin' off the Wizard of Oz
Wrap a lizard in gauze
Beat you in the jaws with it, grab the scissors and saws
And cut out your livers, gizzards, and balls
Throw you in the middle of the ocean in a blizzard with Jaws
So sip piss like sizzurp through a straw
Then describe how it tasted like dessert to us all
Got the gall to make Chris piss in his drawers
Tickle him, go to his grave, skip him, and visit his dog
(You're on fire)
That's how you know you're on a roll
'Cause when you're hot its like you're burning up
Everyone else's cold
(You're on fire)
Man, I'm so fuckin' sick
I got ambulances pullin' me over and shit
(You're on fire)
You need to stop, drop, and roll
'Cause when you say the shit to get
The whole Hip Hop shop to blow
(You're on fire, you're on fire)
I just put a bullshit hook in between two long-ass verses
If you mistook this for a song, look, this ain't a song
It's a warning to Brooke Hogan and David Cook
That the crook just took over, so book
Run as fast as you can, stop writing and kill it
I'm lightning in a skillet, you're a fuckin' flash in the pan
I pop up, you bitches scatter like hot grease splashing a fan
Mr. Mathers is the man, yeah, I'm pissed
But I would rather take this energy and stash it in a can
Come back and whip your ass with it again
Saliva's like sulfuric acid in your hand
It'll eat through anything, metal, the ass of Iron Man
Turn him into plastic
So for you to think that you could stand a fuckin' chance is asinine
Yeah, ask Denaun, man
Hit a blind man with a coloring book
And told him color inside the lines or get hit with a flying crayon
Fuck it, I ain't playin', pull up in a van
And hop out on a homeless man holding a sign sayin'
Vietnam vet — I'm out my fuckin' mind, man
Kick over the can, beat his ass, and leave him 9 grand
So if I seem a little mean to you
This ain't savage, you ain't never seen a brute
You wanna get graphic, we can go the scenic route
You couldn't make a bulimic puke
On a piece of fuckin' corn and peanut poop
Sayin' you sick, quit playin', you prick, don't nobody care
And why the fuck am I yellin' at air
I ain't even talkin' to no one, 'cause ain't nobody there
And nobody will fuckin' test me
'Cause these hoes won't even dare
I'm wasting punchlines, but I got so many to spare
I just thought of another one that might go here
Nah, don't waste it, save it, psycho, yeah
Plus you got to rewrite those lines
That you said about Michael's hair (Woops!)
(You're on fire)
That's how you know you're on a roll
'Cause when you're hot its like you're burning up
Everyone else's cold
(You're on fire)
Man, I'm so hot my motherfuckin' firetruck's on fire, homie
(You're on fire)
You need to stop, drop, and roll
'Cause when you say the shit to get
The whole Hip Hop shop to blow
(You're on fire, you're on fire)
