| Song | 4 Alarm Blaze |
| Artist | M.O.P. |
| Album | First Family 4 Life |
| 作曲 : Carter, Elliott, Grinnage ... | |
| Seventy-five | |
| Raised on a strip called here brotha hill | |
| Where guns pop and cops get killed | |
| This is the place where paranoya | |
| Destroyin' niggas cash cases mo' try to flash they lawyers | |
| We're losin' it | |
| Four fives and knives we be movin' wit | |
| Caught up in the things that the street game confused you wit | |
| We're provin' it | |
| Let it be known if retaliation | |
| Home-skillet - it's on | |
| That rap nigga bust a cap nigga flat nigga | |
| Open up your back nigga rosewood black nigga | |
| First family gone brawl | |
| It's president's resident, and i'm the first dog | |
| You know the m.o.p status | |
| In the history of crime and rap we some the baddest | |
| Word to the mommy, any fool try me | |
| Get hit wit the lami, fuck giuliani | |
| Chorus - teflon and lil' fame: 2x | |
| It's a 4 alarm blaze | |
| Everybody post up next to the stage | |
| Come on | |
| You're all welcome to hell's roadway | |
| First family style | |
| Buck ass wild | |
| What ya say | |
| [billy danze] | |
| Get ya man on the jack soldier, grip your mac soldier | |
| First family - we're back soldier | |
| And we have swam through the brownsville sewers | |
| The last on the line of our kind crime do'ers | |
| Burkowitz mob style | |
| Spit fire from my hammer like i wasn't god's child | |
| Crucify me - but don't deny me | |
| Or get slit bitch you couldn't slip nothin' by me | |
| Try me and i'll pop shots like i'm supposed to | |
| I'm from the field where the covers are unnoticable | |
| I've noticed a few niggas wantin' my head | |
| Used my smarts and my secret all are firin' lead (fire ya lead) | |
| With all intentions of droppin' a body | |
| I'm usually nervous so i'm flinchin' when i enter the party | |
| The brownsville nectar | |
| That bullshit | |
| Just when you thought it was safe i flipped and hit m wit more shit | |
| Chorus 2x: | |
| [teflon] | |
| Introducin' the best kept secret | |
| It's no sweet shit i sleep wit green beret | |
| Blaze enemies frequent | |
| I speak wit authority | |
| (black) perhaps through four to be | |
| Cap quarterly blazed till it's quiet and orderly | |
| The gunsmoke make son soak | |
| The smoke run through the barrel until the gun choke | |
| Raised cold-hearted and deadly | |
| Survive wit a nickel-plated tool and jewels old-timer done fed me | |
| Keep my grip steady | |
| Squeeze till they drop off | |
| Make sure all other guns are popped off as heavy | |
| Blowin some high-tech shit | |
| Through your projects | |
| Makin' whatever was in my way easy to di-tect | |
| I wrecks guys | |
| Over money gone saratoga son be in a columbian necktie | |
| We don't respects by | |
| Half-ass niggas | |
| Blast niggas | |
| Gas niggas who won't blast | |
| The sect die | |
| All: 2x | |
| Just when you thought it was safe | |
| The mashed out posse hit you off wit another taste | |
| Uh (uh) uh (uh) uh (uh ) uh (uh) | |
| Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) | |
| [jay-z] | |
| Yeah, uh-huh, what the fuck | |
| Two asked quick for bastards to step to | |
| Leave wounds too drastic for rescue | |
| When i rock jewels it ain't to impress you | |
| What the fuck niggas commentin on my shit fo' | |
| I'm real - how you think i got rich ho? | |
| Pack steel - ain't afraid to let a clip go | |
| I got enough paper to get low | |
| Come back when the shit blow over get the dough over | |
| Huh wit the rover snatch the gat from the clip holder | |
| Rip through ya shoulder bitch it's jay-hovah | |
| I'm too right wit it, too tight wit it | |
| You light witted but if you're feel ya nice nigga spit it | |
| Who am i? | |
| Jay-z motherfucker | |
| Do or die | |
| In brownsville motherfucker | |
| Blocka, rocka, m.o.p collabo | |
| Front on us and gats blow ya know? | |
| Chorus: 2x | |
| Motherfucker |
| zuò qǔ : Carter, Elliott, Grinnage ... | |
| Seventyfive | |
| Raised on a strip called here brotha hill | |
| Where guns pop and cops get killed | |
| This is the place where paranoya | |
| Destroyin' niggas cash cases mo' try to flash they lawyers | |
| We' re losin' it | |
| Four fives and knives we be movin' wit | |
| Caught up in the things that the street game confused you wit | |
| We' re provin' it | |
| Let it be known if retaliation | |
| Homeskillet it' s on | |
| That rap nigga bust a cap nigga flat nigga | |
| Open up your back nigga rosewood black nigga | |
| First family gone brawl | |
| It' s president' s resident, and i' m the first dog | |
| You know the m. o. p status | |
| In the history of crime and rap we some the baddest | |
| Word to the mommy, any fool try me | |
| Get hit wit the lami, fuck giuliani | |
| Chorus teflon and lil' fame: 2x | |
| It' s a 4 alarm blaze | |
| Everybody post up next to the stage | |
| Come on | |
| You' re all welcome to hell' s roadway | |
| First family style | |
| Buck ass wild | |
| What ya say | |
| billy danze | |
| Get ya man on the jack soldier, grip your mac soldier | |
| First family we' re back soldier | |
| And we have swam through the brownsville sewers | |
| The last on the line of our kind crime do' ers | |
| Burkowitz mob style | |
| Spit fire from my hammer like i wasn' t god' s child | |
| Crucify me but don' t deny me | |
| Or get slit bitch you couldn' t slip nothin' by me | |
| Try me and i' ll pop shots like i' m supposed to | |
| I' m from the field where the covers are unnoticable | |
| I' ve noticed a few niggas wantin' my head | |
| Used my smarts and my secret all are firin' lead fire ya lead | |
| With all intentions of droppin' a body | |
| I' m usually nervous so i' m flinchin' when i enter the party | |
| The brownsville nectar | |
| That bullshit | |
| Just when you thought it was safe i flipped and hit m wit more shit | |
| Chorus 2x: | |
| teflon | |
| Introducin' the best kept secret | |
| It' s no sweet shit i sleep wit green beret | |
| Blaze enemies frequent | |
| I speak wit authority | |
| black perhaps through four to be | |
| Cap quarterly blazed till it' s quiet and orderly | |
| The gunsmoke make son soak | |
| The smoke run through the barrel until the gun choke | |
| Raised coldhearted and deadly | |
| Survive wit a nickelplated tool and jewels oldtimer done fed me | |
| Keep my grip steady | |
| Squeeze till they drop off | |
| Make sure all other guns are popped off as heavy | |
| Blowin some hightech shit | |
| Through your projects | |
| Makin' whatever was in my way easy to ditect | |
| I wrecks guys | |
| Over money gone saratoga son be in a columbian necktie | |
| We don' t respects by | |
| Halfass niggas | |
| Blast niggas | |
| Gas niggas who won' t blast | |
| The sect die | |
| All: 2x | |
| Just when you thought it was safe | |
| The mashed out posse hit you off wit another taste | |
| Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh | |
| Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah | |
| jayz | |
| Yeah, uhhuh, what the fuck | |
| Two asked quick for bastards to step to | |
| Leave wounds too drastic for rescue | |
| When i rock jewels it ain' t to impress you | |
| What the fuck niggas commentin on my shit fo' | |
| I' m real how you think i got rich ho? | |
| Pack steel ain' t afraid to let a clip go | |
| I got enough paper to get low | |
| Come back when the shit blow over get the dough over | |
| Huh wit the rover snatch the gat from the clip holder | |
| Rip through ya shoulder bitch it' s jayhovah | |
| I' m too right wit it, too tight wit it | |
| You light witted but if you' re feel ya nice nigga spit it | |
| Who am i? | |
| Jayz motherfucker | |
| Do or die | |
| In brownsville motherfucker | |
| Blocka, rocka, m. o. p collabo | |
| Front on us and gats blow ya know? | |
| Chorus: 2x | |
| Motherfucker |