Kick In The Door

Welcome back

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

Like what are you so mad about?

You wanna know why, yo first of all

Be askin' me no question kno' what I'm sayin' who the f**k is you?

You kno' what I'm sayin'?

You can't be askin' me no question

I'ma tell you why I'm mad, you kno' what I'm sayin'?

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

You know you sayin', they drivin' around in hot cars,

Yuu know you sayin', they got bitches, they got all that shit

You kno' what I'm sayin', I'm still livin' with my moms

You kno' what I'm sayin', that's my word

You know you saying, 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

You know I'm sayin', 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 f**k is that, who is you to be askin' me questions

You kno' what I'm sayin', who is you?

I gots to talk, I gotta tell what I feel

I gotta talk about my life as I see it

This goes out to you

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

This goes out to you

This goes out to you

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

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

It's that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, f**k 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, f**kin' 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?"

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

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 or 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 'cuz 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, f**kin' prick

When I see ya I'ma

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin' the four-four

All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

This goes out for those that choose to use

Disrespectful views on the King of NY

F**k 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'

It's 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, that's why my money never funny

And you still recoupin', stupid