Fire - Buckwild, Fat Joe, Remy Ma

Fire, fire, fire, fire

Fire, fire, fire, fire

Fireeeeeeee

Buckwild on this shit right here

Ahh!

Terror Squad, what?

Terror Squad, what?

Terror Squad, what?

Terror Squad, what?

Terror Squad, what?

Hey yo, I spit like my mouth was a MAC

Hit 'em with that Pun flow, everything sound like *platt*

Rapid fire, call the cops

Another rapper down, he’s been lyrically shot

I talk sideways just like you

Difference is, the shit that I be spittin' is true

We from the hood and we never see you

A Bronx Tale

Look what the streets made Calogero do

Now Joe quit rappin', Hell gon' freeze then

Shit, well that’s like Lebron leavin'-

Some ghost write and get it in lyrically

But I’m that nigga you call for credibility

If you righteous, I spit it mathematically

You not good enough, get your mans to come battle me

I spit rounds off

I squeeze pounds off

You niggas hot, I’ma get the fuck from around y’all

Word to mother, y’all niggas is hot, man, get the fuck away from me, man

Spit, get our rounds off

Put pounds on (Fireeeeee)

Hear sirens sound off

Speak to the streets, can’t sound soft

Get your rounds off, but you gotta spit (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off

Yeah, yeah, yeah!

You see the girl is crazy

They say she may be the female Jay-Z

I ain’t talkin' 'bout 34th street if my jewels is Macy’s, they great

All day I’m 'bout to go gold and no, I don’t mean five hunnid thousand records

sold

'Cause when it comes to those, you don’t need a U-Haul for what I’m movin'

'Cause soon they gon' call me Miss First Week, one million units

I’m like, «Fuck what’chu done 'cause right now Remy is doin' it»

I’m on (Fireeeeee)

Shit, start callin' me human fuselage

I ain’t new to this but I can’t say I’m a veteran

But I could name every rapper, female or male, that I am better than

What?

Yeah, huh, hah, him too

Ain’t nobody spittin' this shit like Rem do

You see, this is for the listeners and prisoners

I’m still on my job so I could give y’all the business

My sixteens be so real you could feel 'em in your veins

It’s Remymello mother fuck Sugar Hill, nigga

Spit, get our rounds off

Put pounds on (Fireeeeee)

Hear sirens sound off

Speak to the streets, can’t sound soft

Get your rounds off, but you gotta spit (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off

Off the top, what

Yo, yo

Fuck the small talk, niggas know Pun keep the four cocked

Don’t walk too fast, might pass through the wrong block

Don’t stop, keep it movin'

The streets’ll ruin the average man faster than the mother fuckin' Teamsters

Union

We doin' dirt 'cause we gotta

Five dollar-a-hour, three tears in my motherfuckin' big momma

For six hour, got different plans

God knows I’m just a man

So hide your wrist if it’s missin' there

Listen, man, we just niggas tryna work it out

Listen, friends, strictly business, nothin' person-al

We thirsty now and I ain’t drinkin' outta plastic tubs

Platinum plus, crystal glasses with the fancy cups

Fancy us livin' life lavish, drippin' iced cabbage

Dippin' in the six with some white bad bitch

Tight package, I got a pass

I’m from the ghetto, nigga, I like a lotta ass

Word life, T-Squad holdin' it down

Nah’mean?

Spit, get our rounds off

Put pounds on (Fireeeeee)

Hear sirens sound off

Speak to the streets, can’t sound soft

Get your rounds off but you gotta spit (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee)

Spit your rounds off (Fireeeeee)