Fire - eLZhi, Black Milk

What I put down in the sound coil is Crown Royal

It’s like I dug in the ground, soil, and found oil

I’m known to terrorize, paralyze a pair of guys or prepare to rise off the land,

sea, air, and skies

Snatch his heart, but spare his eyes

To show him why I’m great, violate, and I annihilate

My punchlines ain’t just tossin' jabs, they often grab to put you in a Boston

Crab

Caution, they say I’m psychosomatic in the attic

My automatic stick to my clothes like static

-cling on, better kiss the fist while the ring’s on

On the winning hand, four aces, now a king’s drawn

What, how you want it, head or gut?

Let it cuts from the machete, you’re not ready

Check, 1−2 and you don’t stop

For niggas frontin', I get you open till the buttons on your coat pop

It’s that fire, I see the smoke rising high up

Hit higher, hands to the sky up

Spit fire, no, can’t deny us, they getting lava

Cause it’s that fire, I see the smoke rising high up

Get 'em, get 'em up, get 'em high up

Get a cup, let me see, see you light up, they getting lava

Cause it’s that…

Demand the respect, the effects could heat the room

Full of fans in the deck, got my hands on the tech-nology

It’s a little too late for an apology, a style from me got more star quality

than astrology

EL is the name

Spit that shit that’s so fire, it can dance around hell as a flame

Who nicer than me?

You ain’t worth the price of the tea, in China

You a vagina enticin' to be fucked

I’m stuck in the spirit form, my brain mirror store 'em

Speak my mind, hear it swarm, now a lyric’s born

I write a masterpiece

Better than my last release, cooler than the cast of Grease

Burn a nigga to the ash at least

You couldn’t get signed in a cast, surviving then crash in peace

Back the fuck up

Get it nigga?

Back the fuck up, before you get attacked, smacked, hijacked,

and stuck up

I am hot shit, a stand-up nigga, I do not sit

SWAT’s hitting alerted, they heard I got the spot lit

Think deep, how deep?

Deeper than a plot get

In a novel, with a pen, I tend to boggle

Now feel the kiss of death when you spin the bottle

Don’t have to send a hollow tip with others in the clip to follow

The man with the pen is illing when he’s into spilling again, been as healing

as penicillin

If your body can suck and inhale

And blow out, then no doubt, probably not fucking with eL

In this genre, full of politics, chicks, and ganja

Find the one who signed ya, and murk him in his recliner

My words could kill a man much more than a kilogram

Of coke, once spoke, shit can hit the ceiling fan

Cause in the booth I hear the siren calls

When I inflame off four entire walls with fireballs