Lyrics On Fire - Blumentopf

On Fire

You know, critics, man
Critics never got nothing nice to say, man
You know the one thing I notice about critics, man, is
Critics never ask me how my day went
Well Imma tell 'em …
Yesterday my dog died, I hog tied a ho, tied her in a bow
So the next time you blog try to spit a flow
You want to criticize, dog?
Try a little more
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 Flo-rida
Inside of a lowrider with no tires in the 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 dissing me is just like pissing 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 the 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
Thats how you know you’re on a roll
Cause when you hot its like your burning up everyone else’s cold
You’re on fire
Man I’m so fucking sick I got ambulances pulling 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 its 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 fucking flash in a 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 fucking 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 flyin crayon, fuck it I ain’t playing
Pull up in a van and hop out at a homeless man
Holding a sign saying: Vietnam vet, I’m out my fucking 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 want to get graphic we can go the scenic route
You couldn’t make a bulimic puke
On a piece of fucking corn and peanut poop
Saying you sick, quit playing you prick don’t nobody care
And why the fuck am I yelling at air
I ain’t even talking to no one cause ain’t nobody there
Nobody will fucking 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
Naw don’t waste it save it psycho yeah
Plus you got to rewrite those lines that you said about Michael’s hair
You’re on fire
Thats how you know you’re on a roll
Cause when you hot its like your burning up everyone else’s cold
You’re on fire
Man I’m so fucking sick I got ambulances pulling 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