Letras:
Smoke Or Fire Other

T.V. screen They'll say we're winning, but will never tell you what was gained- Cash in the pockets of the businessmen who call the shots While shots are fired

in the car Cause they all become nondescript When something bright is on your wrist Like you repping the bionic six Who wanna fire, when guns fire, your

shit from the low-life ghetto tramps. Could you blame me if they sweat me I'm gonna open fire. What could I do? Pull my trigga or watch my nigga die.

shit from the low-life ghetto tramps. Could you blame me if they sweat me I'm gonna open fire. What could I do? Pull my trigga or watch my nigga die.

chump, you know Biggie Smalls grips it quick And kicks it quick, you know how black niggas get With the hoods fatigues with the boots with trees Smokin

other guys ... are not like me So don't pay them ... no mind Uh-uh! [Chris Brown:] Shorty, shorty The way you wearing that top, got your boy so hot Aint no mistaking, playing, or

flops I'd rather stay inside my home and only pray to die But my house is been on fire since like '85 I can only stand a night of the fatal smoke But

this view From a flying machine Of earth and air and water And a band of Indian men Without herds or flocks or crops Or families or fires to tend? Like

flames I couldn't see through the smoke When I need answers, accusations What you mean you gone choke? [Pre-Chorus 1:] You can't stay, you gotta go. Ain't no other