[Intro] Yeah, ya know, critics man Critics never got nuttin' nice to say, man You know, the one thing I noticed about critics man? Is, critics never ask me how my day went, well I'ma tell 'em
[Verse One] Uh, yesterday my dog died, I hog tied a h** 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 Flow's tighter, hot headed as Ghost Rider Cold hearted as Spider-Man throwin' a spider in the snow
So you better get lower than Flo Rida Inside of a low rider 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 h**s?
Listen dog, Christmas is off, this is as soft as it gets This isn't golf, this is a blisterin' assault Those are your wounds, this is the salt So get lost, sh** dissin' me is just like p**sin' 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 p**s like sizzurp through a straw Then describe how it tasted like dessert to us all Got the gall to make Chris p**s in his drawers Tickle him, go to his grave, skip him and visit his dog
[Chorus] You're on fire, that's how you know you're on a roll Cause when you're hot it's like you're burnin' up everyone else is cold You're on fire, man I'm so f**kin' sick I got ambulances pullin' me over and sh**
You're on fire, you need to stop, drop and roll Cause when you say the sh** to get the whole Hip Hop Shop to blow You're on fire, yeah You're on fire
[Verse Two] I just put a bullsh** hook in between two long a** verses If you mistook this for a song, look This ain't a song it's a warnin' to Brooke Hogan and David Cook, that the crook just took over, so book
Run as fast as you can, stop writin' and kill it I'm lightin' in the skillet, you're a f**kin' a flash in the pan I pop up you b**ches scatter like hot grease Splashin' a fan, Mr. Mathers is the man
Yeah, I'm p**sed but I would rather take this energy and stash it in a can Come back and whip your a** with it again Saliva's like sulfuric acid in your hand It'll eat through anythin' metal, the a** of Iron Man
Turn him into plastic, so for you to think that you could stand A f**kin' chance is asinine, yeah ask Denaun, man Hit a blind man with a colorin' book and told him "Color inside the lines or get hit with a flyin' crayon"
F**k it, I ain't playin', pull up in a van And hop out on a homeless man holdin' a sign sayin' "Vietnam Vet," I'm out my f**kin' mind, man Kick over the can, beat his a** and leave him nine 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 f**kin' corn and peanut poop
Sayin' you sick, quit playin' you prick Don't nobody care, and why the f**k am I yellin' at air? I ain't even talkin' to no one cause ain't nobody there Nobody'll f**kin' test me 'cause these h**s won't even dare
I'm wastin' 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 gotta rewrite those lines that you said about Michael's hair