Yea,

You know...
Critics man, Critics never got nothing nice to say man.

You know...
The one thing I've noticed about critics man is...
critics never ask me how my day went, well I'ma tell em...

Uh, yesterday my dog died. I hog tied a hoe, tied her in a bow said next time you blow up try to spit a flow. You wanna critisize dog try a little mo.

I'm so tired of this I can 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 spiderman throwin' a spider in the snow. So you better get lower than flo-rida inside of a lowrider with no tires in a whole. 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 a soft as it gets. This isn't golf, this is a blistering assault. Those are you 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 a blizzard with jaws. So sip piss like Sizzurp through a straw the discribe how it tasted like desert to us all. I got the ball to Chris piss and jaws tickle and go to his grave skipping and visit his dog.

Your on fire...
That's how you know your on a roll cuz when your hot it's like your burning up everyone elses cold.
Your on fire...
I'm so f*cking sick I got ambulances pulling me over and shit.
Your on fire...
You need to stop, drop and roll cuz when you say the shit to get the whole hip hop shop to blow.
Your on fire...

I just wrote a bullshit hook in between to long a*s verses if you mistook this for a song look, this ain't a song it's a warning to Brook, 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 your a f*cking flash in a pan. I popped up you bi*ches scattered like hot grease splashing a fan, Mr. Mathers is the man. Yea I'm pissed but I would rather take this energy and stash it in a can. Come back and whip your a*s with it again. Saliva's like Sulfuric Acid in your hand it'll eat through anything, metal, the a*s of Iron Man. Turn them into plastic, so for you to think that you can stand a f*cking chance is assanine, yea, ask the Nine man. Hit a blind man with a coloring book and told him color inside the lines or get hit with a flying crayon. Fuck it, I ain't playing, pull up in a van and hop out on a homeless man holding a sighn saying "Vietnam Vet". I'm out my f*cking mind man, kicked over the can beat his a*s and leave him Nine Grand. So if I seem a little mean to you, this ain't sad that you ain't never seen a brute. You couldn't make a Bilemic puke on a f*cking piece of corn and peanut poop. Saying you sick, quit playing you prick. Don't nobody care. Then why the f*ck am I yelling at air? I'm waisting punchlines but I got so many to spare I just thought of another one that might go here. Nah, do waiste it, save it phsyco, yea, plus you gotta rewrite those lines that you set up on micheal's hair.

Your on fire...
That's how you know your on a roll cuz when your hot it's like your burning up everyone elses cold.
Your on fire...
Man I'm so f*cking hot my motherf*cking firetruck's on fire.
Your on fire...
You need to stop drop and roll cuz when you say the shit to get the whole hip hop shop to blow.
Your on fire...

Yea...

Your on fire!