| Yeah, ya know? |
| Critics man
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| Critics never got nothin' nice to say, man
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| You know the one thing I notice about critics, man?
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| Is critics never ask me how my day went
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| Well, I’mma tell 'em
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| Yesterday my dog died, I hog tied a ho, tied her in a bow
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| Said next time you blow up try to spit a flow
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| You wanna criticize dog try a little mo'
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| I’m so tired of this I could blow, fire in the hole
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| I’m fired up so fire up the lighter and the 'dro
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| Better hold on a little tighter here I go
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| Flows tighter, hot headed as ghost rider
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| Cold hearted as spiderman throwin' a spider in the snow
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| So ya better get to blowin in flow rider
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| Inside of a low rider with no tires in the hole
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| Why am I like this? |
| Why is winter cold?
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| Why is it when I talk, I’m so biased to the hoes?
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| Listen dog, Christmas is off, this is as soft as it gets
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| This isn’t gob this is a blister in the salt
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| Those are your wounds this is the salt, so get lost
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| Shit dissin' me is just like pissin' off the wizard of oz
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| Wrap a lizard in gauze, beat you in the jaws with it
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| Grab the scissors and saws
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| And cut out your livers gizzards and balls
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| Throw you in the middle of the ocean in the blizzard with jaws
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| So sip piss like sizzurp through a straw
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| Then describe how it tasted like dessert to us all
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| Got the gall to make Chris piss in his draws
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| Ticklin' him go to his grave, skip him and visit his dog
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| You’re on fire
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| That’s how ya know your on a roll
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| 'Cause when you hot it’s like your burnin' up everyone else’s cold
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| Your on fire
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| Man, I’m so fuckin' sick, I got ambulances pullin' me over and shit
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| You’re on fire
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| Ya need to stop drop and roll 'cause when you say the shit
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| To give the whole hip hop shop the blow
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| You’re on fire, yeah, you’re on fire
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| I just wrote a bullshit hook in between two long ass verses
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| If you mistook the for a song, look
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| This ain’t a song it’s a warnin' to Brooke Hogan and David Cook
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| That the crook just took over so book
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| Run as fast as you can, stop writin' and kill it
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| I’m lightning in a skillet, your a fuckin' flash in a pan
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| I pop up you bitches scatter like hot grease splashin' a fan
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| Mr Mathers is the man
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| Yeah, I’m pissed but I would rather take this energy
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| And stash it in a can, come back and whip your ass with it again
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| Salivas like sulfuric acid in your hand it’ll eat through
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| Anything metal the ass of iron man
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| Turn him into plastic so for you to think
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| That you could stand a fuckin' chance is assanine
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| Yeah, ask the nine man, hit a blind man with a coloring book
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| And told him color inside the lines or get hit widda fine crayon
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| Fuck it I ain’t playin', pull up in a van and hop out
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| At a homeless man holdin' a sign sayin'
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| Vietnam vet, I’m out my fuckin' mind, man
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| Kick over the can beat his ass and leave him 9 grand
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| So if I seem a little mean to you
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| This ain’t savage you ain’t never seen the brew
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| You wanna get graphic we can go the scenic route
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| You couldn’t make a belemic puke
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| On a piece of fuckin' corn and peanut boo
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| Sayin' you sick, quit playin' you prick don’t nobody care
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| Then why the fuck am I yellin' at air
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| I ain’t even talkin' to no one 'cause ain’t nobody there
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| Nobody will fuckin' test me 'cause these hos won’t even dare
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| I’m wastin' punchlines but I got so many to spare
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| I just thought of another one that might go here
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| Naw, don’t waste it save it, psycho, yeah
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| Plus you gotta rewrite those lines that you said about Michael’s hair
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| You’re on fire
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| That’s how ya know your on a roll
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| 'Cause when you hot it’s like your burnin' up everyone else’s cold
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| You’re on fire
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| Man, I’m so hot my motherfuckin' firetrucks on fire, homie
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| You’re on fire
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| Ya need to stop drop and roll 'cause when you say the shit
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| To give the whole hip hop shop the blow
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| You’re on fire, yeah, your on fire
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| You’re on fire |