Kick In The Door

Notorious B.I.G.

  • 																					Welcome back. *audience applauds*
    We're here on Bad Boy television, and I'm Trevin Jones
    and I've been conversing with the Mad Rapper.
    And quite frankly -- he's very mad.
    We're gonna TRY to find out why; so we'll take some questions
    at this point from our studio audience.
    Yes ma'am, please stand and state your name, and where you're from.

    Hi, my name is Shay, and I'm from New Rochelle
    and, I just don't understand, why you so mad. (yo, yo)
    Like what are you so mad about? (yo, yo, y-y-yo)

    You wanna know why, yo first of all, yo first of all you can't
    be askin me no question knowhatI'msayin who the fuck is you?
    (Ahh, excuse me, Mr. Rapper, Mr. Rapper.) YouknowhatI'msayin?
    You can't be askin me no question (It's a family oriented show.)
    I'ma tell you why I'm mad, youknowhatI'msayin? I'ma tell you why
    I'm mad. I'ma tell you why I'm mad. These niggaz is makin five
    hundred thousand dollar videos, yunusayin? They drivin around in
    hot cars, yunusayin? They got bitches, they got all that shit.
    (Sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language.)
    YouknowhatI'msayin? I'm still livin with my MOMS, youknowhatI'msayin?
    That's my word. Yunusayin? I'm makin records I ain't made no money
    yet I done made this is my fourth album yo, this my FOURTH ALBUM.
    I ain't made a dime yet. This nigga made one album, he makin wild
    records. That Ready to Die shit, it was aight, it was aight,
    yunumsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit is
    more John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit. And they not
    recognizing, they not sayin I recognize. And fuck is that, who
    is you to be askin me questions, youknowhatI'msayin? Who is you?
    *Mad Rapper fades out*

    [cut and scratched "I gots to talk. I gotta tell what I feel.
    I gotta talk about my life as I see it!"]

    Intro: repeat 2X ('Biggie' repeats every line of beat)

    This goes out to you
    This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you

    Verse One:

    Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
    As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
    Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
    Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck Poppa
    You got ta, call me, Francis M.H. White
    in tank-light totes, tote iron
    Was told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firin
    Keep extra clips for extra shit
    Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
    The mo shady, "Tell em!", Frankie baby
    Ain't no tellin where I may be
    May see me in D.C. at Howard Homecomin
    with my man Capone, dumbin, fuckin somethin
    You should know my steelo
    Went from ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
    to orgies with hoes I never seen befo'
    so, Jesus, get off the Notorious
    penis, before I squeeze and bust
    If the beef between us, we can settle it
    With the chrome and metal shit
    I make it hot, like a kettle get
    You're delicate, you better get, who sent ya?
    You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure
    Biggie, "How are you gonna do it?"

    Chorus: repeat 4X

    Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
    All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

    Verse Two:

    On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
    Look how dark it get, when ya marked with death
    Should I start your breath should I let you die
    In fear you start to cry, ask why
    Lyrically, I'm worser, don't front the word sick
    You cursed it, but rehearsed it
    I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
    You herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and show money
    Don't forget the publishin, I punish em, I'm done with them
    Son, I'm surprised you run with them
    I think they got cum in them, cause they, nothin but dicks
    Tryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
    Mad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, that's sick
    Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own click
    Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo bitch
    I know you prayin you was rich, fuckin prick
    When I see ya I'ma

    Chorus

    Verse Three:

    This goes out for those that choose to use
    Disrespectful views on the King of NY
    Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
    Now ya Braille in it, stash that light shit, or scalin it
    Conscience of ya nonsense in eighty-eight
    Sold more powder than Johnson and Johnson
    Tote steel like Bronson, vigilante
    You wanna get on son, you need to ask me
    Ain't no other king in this rap thing
    They siblings, nothing but my chil'ren
    One shot, they disappearin
    Its ill when, MC's used to be on cruddy shit
    Took home, Ready to Die, listened, studied shit
    Now they on some money shit, successful out the blue
    They light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
    make the white shake, thats why my money never funny
    And you still recoupin, stupid *echoes*

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