[Intro] 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 ...

[Verse 1] Yesterday my dog died, I hog tied a ho, tied her in a bow Said "next time you blog, try to spit a flow" You wanna criticize, dog? Try a little mo' 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

[Hook] 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

[Verse 2] 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

[Hook]