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    Lloyd Banks
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    Song Info

    On Fire
    Released


      About "On Fire"

      Lyrics for Lloyd Banks - "On Fire"

      New York City!
      You are now rocking with the best
      Lloyd Banks! G Unit!

      [Chorus]
      We on fire, up in here
      It's burning hot, we on fire
      She'll take it off, if it get too hot
      Up in this spot, we on fire
      Tear the roof off this motherfucker
      Light the roof on fire (Uh! Nigga what you say?!)
      We get loose in this motherfucker
      Light the roof on fire fire fire

      Naw I ain't putting nothing out, I smoke when I want to
      Twenty six inch chrome spokes on the Hummer
      This heat gon last for the whole summer
      Running your bitch faster then the Road Runner
      Rocks on my wrist, rose gold under
      Glocks on my hip, those throw thunder
      I'm riding Dalvins by the pier
      But when you stop, the only thing still spinning is your ear
      Yeah, I'm riding with that all black snub
      Raiders cap back, all black gloves
      A ladies man, but the boy smack thugs
      These record sales equal more back rubs
      Not to mention the boy pack clubs
      His impacts about as raw as crack was
      Now all these new artists getting wrong deals
      I'm only twenty one, sitting on mills

      [Chorus]

      If you know anything about me, then you know I'm a baller
      If I don't hit the first night, I ain't gon call her
      I'm trying to play, you trying to have my daughter
      But I can't blame her for what her momma taught her
      And I don't care bout what the next nigga bought her
      'Cause I ain't putting no baguettes in her abuela
      I got a diamond about as clear as water
      And I got bread, but I ain't spend a quarter
      So cut the games ma, let's go in the back
      Matter fact, turn your ass round, back a nigga down
      And I ain't bias when I'm riding through the town
      Like 'em small, like em tall, like em black, like 'em brown
      She gotta be able to cum when I need her
      Tight ass pants, little wife beater
      Regular chick or R&B diva
      Bitch say something, I ain't a mind reader

      [Chorus]

      SONGWRITERS:
      Scott, Tyrone / Cannon, Kevin / Covert, Duane / Jackson, Daniel
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