Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song On Fire, artist - Redman. Album song Muddy Waters, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 31.12.1995
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: DEF JAM, RAL
Song language: English
On Fire |
| Hahha |
| Now everytime I grab the mic I always start shit up Sharper than your double-edger, watch me cough shit up Live and direct, respect it to the underground connect |
| Pah! |
| I’m wreckin any MC you select |
| Yo E, load me in your gun, light the flares |
| Give me forty-eight bars, and I go out like gays at Billy Bear |
| Wear and tear, I’m wreckin for the Bricks is where |
| Jump in my way and get your body splattered everywhere |
| Conjunction junction what’s your function |
| It’s that nigga who’s so swift I could lose a compass |
| Step into jams, with seven niggaz in a Land |
| And forty motherfuckers in some fucked up caravan |
| Drop the farenheight back down to zero |
| Bring Heat to the streets like I’m Pacino and DeNiro |
| Raw dog material, grand imperial |
| Talk to my shotty nigga, my ears ain’t hearin you |
| So take heed to what I’m saying |
| Cause tonight’s the night, and me and my nuccas ain’t playing |
| Now do I look crazy? |
| Deranged, maybe? |
| You shot first, your glock burst, but it graze me Now time for lyrics, put up your guns |
| And watch me get this shit hoppin like the West was won |
| Got that lyrical chicken feed, for all chicken heads |
| Crowd your Rap City committee, like I’m |
| Most bigger than them Melendez brothers |
| You need Cochran when you’re fuckin with Judge Red |
| Put your fingers up if you love hash and cash |
| I been that way since Ike Turner was kickin Tina ass |
| Hookers ridin dick, like I’m a motorcycle |
| You wanna shine bitch? |
| Let me simonize you |
| I make sure your vision blur, till you don’t know what occurred |
| Until I black out every nerver |
| Foul women get served as chicken head hors d’ouerves |
| I drop your tops like your heads was convertibles! |
| Hah, if you still look up in the sky I’m still high |
| All the way live like Lakeside |
| Wann die? |
| E (whattup son), you got this beat pumpin |
| The way I feel niggaz ain’t leave until they up in somethin |
| Pack my dutch like the niggaz in the county |
| Dayrooms, stay tuned, for Doc Illuminati |
| Up around them big butt freaks is where you find me |
| (Martini and Rossi, Asti Spumante) |
| So take heed to what I’m saying |
| Cause tonight’s the night, and me and my nuccas ain’t playing |
| To my people in the back, if you’re not the wack, say |
| Don’t stop, the body rock |
| To my people in the front, if you’re tokin on blunts, say |
| Don’t stop, the body rock… aoowwwwwowwwww |
| I’m too strong for you to listen |
| I started spittin, that’s why the brick niggaz be lickin |
| They stay on magazine written equipments |
| And lyrics I got em by the shipment, where your bitch went |
| I’m smokin leaky out the Lec-y, fatal |
| My Squad steps with the ultimatum, true dat |
| My muzak, move crowds, like down the hill moved crack |
| For those who stepped on toes, I want my shoes back |
| Buddy, bringin money to your girl |
| for your little daughter like I’m Cutty |
| Twenty dollars a pop to dub me, I bug G, quote it I see you notice how I leave microphones corroded |
| Hahahahaha, your staff not up to par |
| You raw, you’re more like Zsa Zsa Gabor |
| Call deep niggaz, keep the gas pedal floored |
| And I pump the funk to keep a room and board |