Dj Quik - Fire And Brimstone Lyrics
I don't give a ***** about you, you, her, himThat *****, that nigga, ya'll, them***** clot laws dripping out ya'll trim'Bout to fill ya cup up to the rim with brimstone***** yo GrammyStick the bell part up ya ass call ya mammyI don't need ya love mutha*****a god damn heCritics wanna slam mePut me in a jam till I come back with the jammyBlaow, knock your whole car window out till ya eyes white out ***** lights outGot you dead on arrival at your service on Saturday your whole family carry biblesGot the whole building nervous, they turn around see me walk up in the serviceI wrote your eulogy on toilet paper, right out in the rain,Niggas got nerve, well I'm your novacaneThis is fire and brimstone uh,Kill you with fire and brimstone uhI'm a Mercedes man, a late 80's manI guess you could call me the perennial ladies manGot some really rich friends and they all really like me cause I really pitch trimsSometimes when I'm bored I kick it with dumb folkThey all really hate me like rottening egg yolksI love to rub it in because I'm not a proper fit for your world of bullshitYou miserable mutt minds flawed by designYou'll never have the temperament to experiment with the benevolentYou're irrelevant, it should be your job to shovel shitYou need to cultivate and develop itGet in the manure business and sell of it, good luck trickI'm a precious stone, wrapped in parchment paperRound brilliant cut shootin' ?A dignitary, you're a lowly beggerWhy don't you pull your plug you stupid niggaIf you're steering wheel is not wrapped in wood then you don't have the touchSo you will never feel it 'cause you denigrate too muchWho are you to judge, who are you to critique, who are you to falsify my presenceI am unique so you can keep your $20 you ain't gotta buy my cd mutha*****a not a problemThat's why I'm a recluse, not the one you set looseMutha*****as in this game use my name to get juiceSay it, david blake, a maven, amazingB-b-brighter than the forest when it's blazingAsteroid, past the void, keep it pushing, that a boyGotta get it hotter than oven cooking, that's a joyFor these last four bars I take it easyBut you still a mutha*****a and your cheesyDon't trust your memoryWrite down what you feel about meIf yo head ain't rocking back and and forth then doubt me
