[Mac Dre Talking]
Where am I?
I smell fire.
Who got that fire?
Fire.
I don’t smoke that brown. Al Capone.
I don’t like that
shit.
I don’t like that shit.
I need fire, who got fire?
Real
pimp.
Yo nigga.
It’s yo nigga.
Roll something
up.
Smokin’.
Roll something up.
Lets get to flowin’.
(Go
herd).
[Verse 1: Mac Dre]
I’m at the licker store gettin’
more blunts for the skunk.
Hit the block in the chev I got thump in the
trunk.
Feeling good off the wood in the hood and I’m fizz ‘em.
Kind
of annoyed they always trying to take a boy back to prison.
They hate to
see a playa, employ yourself.
They hate to see a playa, enjoy
yourself.
When I’m (side ?) want a ride, then playa lets go.
I’m 29
with many rimes and love at soul.
I’m a ho, Bust it raw with the words I
serve.
Every tape I make baby learns the words.
Young Mac Dre, got to
give to get.
Hate a reasy who give easy like she look at some
zags.
I’m on the celli telli trying to get some roll from Nelly.
Need
it very smelly, fitin to go chunk for the telli.
It’s on, fitin to go
blow a zone to the dome.
Tone Capone got the bong in this bomb weed
song.
[Chorus]
Fire.
Puffin’ the smoke in the air.
Blowin’ it big like a playa playa.
Fire.
Cheech and Chong on a spree.
Blowin’ it big, come smoke with me.
Fire.
Puffin’ the smoke in the
air. Blowin’ it big like a playa playa.
Fire.
Cheech and Chong on a
spree. Blowin’ it big, come smoke with me.
[Verse 2: Young
leech]
Every day in the life as G (Westside) we be trifling and we,
Are
likely to see niggaz aint likein’ me.
Them pimped out gangsta-ism
tactics,
Spinnin’ all over my gun like a blacksmith.
Them bitches
belligerent actor, see the chiropractor.
But I crack yeah neck, back to the
scene.
Blow ‘em to smithereens like the things I done seen.
In my
everyday smoking out ritual, regular ooh thing.
Walking down the street
with a gangsta limp and demon jeans.
Me and some squalls, and smile (bling,
bling).
I just want to lean.
Why I don’t chugalug this 40.
Then
jump in block park homie for the block smok-ie.
With the O-G, Mac Dre,
kill-a Cali parlay, parlay.
Smoking the ounce of that bomb bay every
day.
Puffin’ the smoke in the air. Blowin’ it big like a playa
playa.
[Chorus]
[Verse 3: Mac Dre]
I need narcotics,
that goo-e and stanky.
When I aint got it, I’m moody and cranky.
What
the dilly, what’s really, what’s down that filly?
We can old school
with a zag, blow bags in the dilly?
Is you silly? Never throw the dubbe
away.
Lace no dank when you’re blowin’ with Dre.
Trying to cope
with this stress, so I blow big.
How can the bulletproof vest protect my
wig?
See them cutthoat fools, done changed the roles.
The public got it
twisted and we blame the news.
Got game for fools,
‘Cause I hang with
fools,
That got game to use,
And maintain the roles.
Keep it real
dog, but represent what’s rite.
Be a real hog when you bless the
mic.
Smoke big live long, and get yo pringles.
Young Learch and Mac Dre
making hit rap singles.
[Chorus to fade with Mac Dre
talking]
Killea.
Rapper gone bad.
Smoking them big
gads.
Uh.
Keep it bouncing.
I told ‘em, can’t hold ‘em.
2000.
Feel it bitch. Yeah.
Mac Dre boy.
[Young Learch] Wicked
Learch if you didn’t know and Mac Dre.
Playa playa!
And that broke
you. Yeah.
My nigga Snipes off in the building.
Out that
fillin’.
That new millennium shit.
Tone Capone pass the bong it’s
on my nigga. Yeah.
They can’t fuck with this.
They can’t fuck with
this.
They can’t fuck with this. Uh.
I’m back boy.
Clear the
lane I’m going to the hole.
All in your bootie hoe. Groupie.
M Artists/Bands 
Mac Dre CDs in sales 
