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fire - buckwild lyrics

[intro: fat joe]
fire, fire, fire, fire
fire, fire, fire, fire
fireeeeeeee
buckwild on this sh-t right here
ahh!

[break: big pun]
terror squad, what?
terror squad, what?
terror squad, what?
terror squad, what?
terror squad, what?

[verse 1: fat joe]
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 sh-t 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’, h-ll gon’ freeze then
sh-t, well that’s like lebron leavin’-
some ghost write and get it in lyrically
but i’m that n-gg- 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 n-gg-s hot, i’ma get the f-ck from around y’all
word to mother, y’all n-gg-s is hot, man, get the f-ck away from me, man

[chorus: reef hustle]
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

[verse 2: remy ma]
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, “f-ck what’chu done ’cause right now remy is doin’ it”
i’m on (fireeeeee)
sh-t, 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 n-body spittin’ this sh-t 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 f-ck sugar hill, n-gg-

[verse 3: big pun]
off the top, what
yo, yo
f-ck the small talk, n-gg-s know pun keep the four c-cked
don’t walk too fast, might p-ss through the wrong block
don’t stop, keep it movin’
the streets’ll ruin the average man faster than the mother f-ckin’ teamsters union
we doin’ dirt ’cause we gotta
five dollar-a-hour, three tears in my motherf-ckin’ 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 n-gg-s 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 gl-sses with the fancy cups
fancy us livin’ life lavish, drippin’ iced cabbage
dippin’ in the six with some white bad b-tch
tight package, i got a p-ss
i’m from the ghetto, n-gg-, i like a lotta -ss
word life, t-squad holdin’ it down
nah’mean?

[chorus: reef hustle]
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)

- buckwild lyrics

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