Kick in the Door (2008 Remaster)

歌詞

(Spoken intro begins) 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* (Spoken intro ends) (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*