Notorious B.I.G. - Kick In The Door lyrics

rate me

, 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 worshipped, 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*