Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Lloyd Banks
Lloyd Banks
Lead Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Curtis James Jackson
Curtis James Jackson
Songwriter
Kwame Holland
Kwame Holland
Songwriter
Harry Palmer
Harry Palmer
Songwriter
Christopher Lloyd
Christopher Lloyd
Songwriter
Luis Resto
Luis Resto
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
K1 Mil
K1 Mil
Producer
Eminem
Eminem
Mixing Engineer
Luis Resto
Luis Resto
Additional Producer
Adrian Hall
Adrian Hall
Recording Engineer
Steve King
Steve King
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

New York City! (Hunger for More!) You are now rocking with the best Lloyd Banks G-Unit! We on fire Up in here, it's burning hot We on fire! Shorty 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 gettin' loose in this motherfucker, light the roof on fire, fire, fire this (right?) Nah, I ain't putting nothin' out, I smoke when I wanna 26-inch chrome spokes on the Hummer This heat gon' last for the whole summer Running your bitch faster than the Road Runner Rocks on my wrist, rolls gold under Glocks on my hip, those throw thunder I'm buying diamond by the pier But when you stop, the only thing still spinning is your hair Yeah, I'm riding with that all black snub Raiders cap back, all black gloves I'm '80s' man, but the boy smack thugs These record sales equal more back rubs Not to mention I bought a pack of clubs His impacts about as raw as crack was Now all these new artists getting wrong deals I'm only 21, sitting on mills We on fire Up in here, it's burning hot We on fire! Shorty 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 gettin' loose in this motherfucker, light the roof on fire, fire, fire (ugh) 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 tryna 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 puttin' no baguettes in her butter I got a diamond about as clear as water And I got bread, but I ain't sparing a quarter So cut the games ma, let's go in the back Matter of 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 come 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 We on fire Up in here, it's burning hot We on fire! Shorty 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 gettin' loose in this motherfucker, light the roof on fire, fire, fire
Writer(s): Christopher Charles Lloyd, Kwame B. Holland, Curtis James Jackson, Luis Resto, Harry Palmer, Marshall B. Mathers Iii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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