On Fire - Blumentopf

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