This is a song about "K fire"

The ice ain't really nothing to her

Im liable to spit cold fire

So grab ya friends and let's take ya back to my house

Like a whole police k-9 unit filled with basset hounds,

Ridin through my hood with the k with no brakes bitch

Streets is calling square niggas leave a message

The pope inside nine capsules, fuck it let's split a roll

K and b is rarer than a piece of golden coal

My nigga made it, we just young, living the dream

With anything you need, i'm young k to the fucking scene.

J. cole's her ghost writer

Ryan spits hot fire

And the food could have been finer

Your on fire.. your on fire

We came.. way too far pretty baby

Or, if you prefer, d n k r o z