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Kick In The Door
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Notorious B.I.G.
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1
Welcome back. *Audience applauds*
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We're here on Bad Boy television, and I'm Trevin Jones
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And I've been conversing with the Mad Rapper.
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And quite frankly -- he's very mad.
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We're gonna try to find out why; so we'll take some questions
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At this point from our studio audience.
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Yes ma'am, please stand and state your name, and where you're from.
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Hi, my name is Shay, and I'm from New Rochelle
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And, I just don't understand, why you so mad. (yo, yo)
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Like what are you so mad about? (yo, yo, y-y-yo)
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You wanna know why, yo first of all, yo first of all you can't
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Be askin me no question knowhati'msayin who the fuck is you?
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(Ahh, excuse me, Mr. Rapper, Mr. Rapper.) Youknowhati'msayin?
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You can't be askin me no question (It's a family oriented show.)
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I'ma tell you why I'm mad, youknowhati'msayin? I'ma tell you why
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I'm mad. I'ma tell you why I'm mad. These niggaz is makin five
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Hundred thousand dollar videos, yunusayin? They drivin around in
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Hot cars, yunusayin? They got bitches, they got all that shit.
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(Sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language.)
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Youknowhati'msayin? I'm still livin with my moms, youknowhati'msayin?
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That's my word. Yunusayin? I'm makin records I ain't made no money
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Yet I done made this is my fourth album yo, this my fourth album.
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I ain't made a dime yet. This nigga made one album, he makin wild
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Records. That Ready to Die shit, it was aight, it was aight,
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Yunumsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit is
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More John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit. And they not
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Recognizing, they not sayin I recognize. And fuck is that, who
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Is you to be askin me questions, youknowhati'msayin? Who is you?
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*Mad Rapper fades out*
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[cut and scratched "I gots to talk. I gotta tell what I feel.
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I gotta talk about my life as I see it! "]
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Intro: repeat 2X ('Biggie' repeats every line of beat)
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This goes out to you
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This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you
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Verse One:
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Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
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As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
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Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
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Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck Poppa
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You got ta, call me, Francis M. H. White
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In tank-light totes, tote iron
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Was told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firin
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Keep extra clips for extra shit
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Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
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The mo shady, "Tell em!", Frankie baby
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Ain't no tellin where I may be
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May see me in D. C. At Howard Homecomin
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With my man Capone, dumbin, fuckin somethin
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You should know my steelo
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Went from ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
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To orgies with hoes I never seen befo'
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So, Jesus, get off the Notorious
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Penis, before I squeeze and bust
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If the beef between us, we can settle it
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With the chrome and metal shit
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I make it hot, like a kettle get
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You're delicate, you better get, who sent ya?
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You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure
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Biggie, "How are you gonna do it?"
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Chorus: repeat 4X
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Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
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All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
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Verse Two:
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On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
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Look how dark it get, when ya marked with death
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Should I start your breath should I let you die
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In fear you start to cry, ask why
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Lyrically, I'm worser, don't front the word sick
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You cursed it, but rehearsed it
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I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
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You herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and show money
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Don't forget the publishin, I punish em, I'm done with them
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Son, I'm surprised you run with them
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I think they got c** in them, cause they, nothin but dicks
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Tryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
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Mad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, that's sick
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Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own click
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Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo bitch
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I know you prayin you was rich, fuckin prick
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When I see ya I'ma
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Chorus
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Verse Three:
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This goes out for those that choose to use
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Disrespectful views on the King of ny
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Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
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Now ya Braille' it, stash that light shit, or scalin it
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Conscience of ya nonsense in eighty-eight
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Sold more powder than Johnson and Johnson
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Tote steel like Bronson, vigilante
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You wanna get on son, you need to ask me
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Ain't no other kings in this rap thing
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They siblings, nothing but my chil'ren
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One shot, they disappearin
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Its I'll when, mc's used to be on cruddy shit
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Took home, Ready to Die, listened, studied shit
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Now they on some money shit, successful out the blue
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They light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
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Make the white shake, that's why my money never funny
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And you still recoupin, stupid *echoes*
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