Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fire, artist - Buckwild. Date of issue: 04.04.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Fire |
| Fire, fire, fire, fire |
| Fire, fire, fire, fire |
| Fireeeeeeee |
| Buckwild on this shit right here |
| Ahh! |
| Terror Squad, what? |
| Terror Squad, what? |
| Terror Squad, what? |
| Terror Squad, what? |
| Terror Squad, what? |
| Hey yo, I spit like my mouth was a MAC |
| Hit 'em with that Pun flow, everything sound like *platt* |
| Rapid fire, call the cops |
| Another rapper down, he’s been lyrically shot |
| I talk sideways just like you |
| Difference is, the shit that I be spittin' is true |
| We from the hood and we never see you |
| A Bronx Tale |
| Look what the streets made Calogero do |
| Now Joe quit rappin', Hell gon' freeze then |
| Shit, well that’s like Lebron leavin'- |
| Some ghost write and get it in lyrically |
| But I’m that nigga you call for credibility |
| If you righteous, I spit it mathematically |
| You not good enough, get your mans to come battle me |
| I spit rounds off |
| I squeeze pounds off |
| You niggas hot, I’ma get the fuck from around y’all |
| Word to mother, y’all niggas is hot, man, get the fuck away from me, man |
| Spit, get our rounds off |
| Put pounds on (Fireeeeee) |
| Hear sirens sound off |
| Speak to the streets, can’t sound soft |
| Get your rounds off, but you gotta spit (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah! |
| You see the girl is crazy |
| They say she may be the female Jay-Z |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout 34th street if my jewels is Macy’s, they great |
| All day I’m 'bout to go gold and no, I don’t mean five hunnid thousand records |
| sold |
| 'Cause when it comes to those, you don’t need a U-Haul for what I’m movin' |
| 'Cause soon they gon' call me Miss First Week, one million units |
| I’m like, «Fuck what’chu done 'cause right now Remy is doin' it» |
| I’m on (Fireeeeee) |
| Shit, start callin' me human fuselage |
| I ain’t new to this but I can’t say I’m a veteran |
| But I could name every rapper, female or male, that I am better than |
| What? |
| Yeah, huh, hah, him too |
| Ain’t nobody spittin' this shit like Rem do |
| You see, this is for the listeners and prisoners |
| I’m still on my job so I could give y’all the business |
| My sixteens be so real you could feel 'em in your veins |
| It’s Remymello mother fuck Sugar Hill, nigga |
| Spit, get our rounds off |
| Put pounds on (Fireeeeee) |
| Hear sirens sound off |
| Speak to the streets, can’t sound soft |
| Get your rounds off, but you gotta spit (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off |
| Off the top, what |
| Yo, yo |
| Fuck the small talk, niggas know Pun keep the four cocked |
| Don’t walk too fast, might pass through the wrong block |
| Don’t stop, keep it movin' |
| The streets’ll ruin the average man faster than the mother fuckin' Teamsters |
| Union |
| We doin' dirt 'cause we gotta |
| Five dollar-a-hour, three tears in my motherfuckin' big momma |
| For six hour, got different plans |
| God knows I’m just a man |
| So hide your wrist if it’s missin' there |
| Listen, man, we just niggas tryna work it out |
| Listen, friends, strictly business, nothin' person-al |
| We thirsty now and I ain’t drinkin' outta plastic tubs |
| Platinum plus, crystal glasses with the fancy cups |
| Fancy us livin' life lavish, drippin' iced cabbage |
| Dippin' in the six with some white bad bitch |
| Tight package, I got a pass |
| I’m from the ghetto, nigga, I like a lotta ass |
| Word life, T-Squad holdin' it down |
| Nah’mean? |
| Spit, get our rounds off |
| Put pounds on (Fireeeeee) |
| Hear sirens sound off |
| Speak to the streets, can’t sound soft |
| Get your rounds off but you gotta spit (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee) |
| Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee) |