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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Lloyd Banks
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Luis Resto
Songwriter
Curtis James Jackson
Songwriter
Kwame Holland
Songwriter
Marshall Mathers
Songwriter
Harry Palmer
Songwriter
Christopher Lloyd
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
K1 Mil
Producer
Eminem
Mixing Engineer
Luis Resto
Additional Producer
Adrian Hall
Recording Engineer
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
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