Fire lyrics

Artist  : Mac Dre 
Song : Fire
 
[Mac Dre Talking]

Where am I?

I smell
fire.

Who got that fire? Fire.

I don’t
smoke that brown. Al Capone.

I don’t like
that shit.

I don’t like that shit.

I
need fire, who got fire?

Real pimp.

Yo
nigga.

It’s yo nigga.

Roll something
up.

Smokin’.

Roll something
up.

Lets get to flowin’.

(Go
herd).



[Verse 1: Mac Dre]



I’m
at the licker store gettin’ more blunts for the
skunk.

Hit the block in the chev I got thump
in the trunk.

Feeling good off the wood in
the hood and I’m fizz ‘em.

Kind of
annoyed they always trying to take a boy back to
prison.

They hate to see a playa, employ
yourself.

They hate to see a playa, enjoy
yourself.

When I’m (side ?) want a ride,
then playa lets go.

I’m 29 with many rimes
and love at soul.

I’m a ho, Bust it raw
with the words I serve.

Every tape I make
baby learns the words.

Young Mac Dre, got to
give to get.

Hate a reasy who give easy like
she look at some zags.

I’m on the celli
telli trying to get some roll from
Nelly.

Need it very smelly, fitin to go chunk
for the telli.

It’s on, fitin to go blow a
zone to the dome.

Tone Capone got the bong in
this bomb weed
song.





[Chorus]

Fire.

Puffin’
the smoke in the air. Blowin’ it big like a
playa playa.

Fire.

Cheech and Chong on a
spree. Blowin’ it big, come smoke with
me.

Fire.

Puffin’ the smoke in the air.
Blowin’ it big like a playa
playa.

Fire.

Cheech and Chong on a spree.
Blowin’ it big, come smoke with
me.



	[Verse 2: Young leech]

Every
day in the life as G (Westside) we be trifling
and we,

Are likely to see niggaz aint
likein’ me.

Them pimped out gangsta-ism
tactics,

Spinnin’ all over my gun like a
blacksmith.

Them bitches belligerent actor,
see the chiropractor.

But I crack yeah neck,
back to the scene.

Blow ‘em to smithereens
like the things I done seen.

In my everyday
smoking out ritual, regular ooh
thing.

Walking down the street with a gangsta
limp and demon jeans.

Me and some squalls, and
smile (bling, bling).

I just want to
lean.

Why I don’t chugalug this
40.

Then jump in block park homie for the
block smok-ie.

With the O-G, Mac Dre, kill-a
Cali parlay, parlay.

Smoking the ounce of
that bomb bay every day.



Puffin’ the
smoke in the air. Blowin’ it big like a playa
playa.



[Chorus]



[Verse 3: Mac
Dre]



I need narcotics, that goo-e and
stanky.

When I aint got it, I’m moody and
cranky.

What the dilly, what’s really,
what’s down that filly?

We can old school
with a zag, blow bags in the dilly?

Is you
silly? Never throw the dubbe away.

Lace no
dank when you’re blowin’ with Dre.

Trying
to cope with this stress, so I blow big.

How
can the bulletproof vest protect my wig?

See
them cutthoat fools, done changed the
roles.

The public got it twisted and we blame
the news.

Got game for fools,

‘Cause I
hang with fools,

That got game to
use,

And maintain the roles.

Keep it real
dog, but represent what’s rite.

Be a real
hog when you bless the mic.

Smoke big live
long, and get yo pringles.

Young Learch and
Mac Dre making hit rap singles.



	[Chorus
to fade with Mac Dre
talking]



Killea.

Rapper gone
bad.

Smoking them big gads.

Uh.

Keep
it bouncing.

I told ‘em, can’t hold
‘em. 2000.

Feel it bitch. Yeah.

Mac Dre
boy.

[Young Learch] Wicked Learch if you
didn’t know and Mac Dre.

Playa
playa!

And that broke you. Yeah.

My nigga
Snipes off in the building.

Out that
fillin’.

That new millennium shit.

Tone
Capone pass the bong it’s on my nigga.
Yeah.

They can’t fuck with this.

They
can’t fuck with this.

They can’t fuck
with this. Uh.

I’m back boy. 

Clear the
lane I’m going to the hole.

All in your
bootie hoe. Groupie.