Kick in the Door

The Notorious B.I.G.

Album

Skit – Trevin Jones

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
Shay – 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?
The Mad Rapper – Yo, yo, yo-yo, y’know, yo you wanna know why? Yo first of all, you can’t be askin’ me no question youknowhatI’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 niggas is makin’ five hundred thousand dollar videos, youknowsayin? They drivin’ around in hot cars, youknowsayin? They got bitches, they got all that shit (Sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language). YouknowhatI’ms–? I’m still livin’ with my Moms, youknowhatI’msayin? That’s my word. YouknowI’ms–?
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 aightYouknowI’msayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit is J–more John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit And they not resp-ecognising, they not sayin, “I recognize” And fuck is that, who is you to be askin’ me questions, youknowhatI’msayin? Who is you?

Interlude: Martin Lawrence

I gots to talk
I gotta tell what I feel
I gotta talk about my life as I see it

Intro – The Notorious B.I.G.

Biggie
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

Verse 1

Uhh, 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 Dada, fuck Poppa
You got to call me Francis M.H
White, intake light tokes, 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 most shady, (Tell Em!) Frankie baby
Ain’t no telling where
I may be, may see me in D.C
At Howard Homecoming with my man Capone, dumbing
Fucking something, you should know my steelo
Went from ten Gs for blow to thirty Gs a show
To orgies with hoes I never seen before
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

Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more (Biggie)
Kick in the door, waving the four-four (uh-huh)
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more

Verse 2

On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get when you’re marked for death
Should I start your breath or should I let you die
In fear you start to cry, ask why, lyrically
I’m worshiped, 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 publishing, 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 nothing but dicks
Trying to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
Mad I smoke hydro, rock diamonds that’s sick
Got paid off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
Take trips to Cairo, laying with your bitch
I know you praying you was rich, fucking prick, when I see ya I’ma

Chorus

Kick in the door, waving the four-four (uh-huh)
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more (uh, uh, uh)
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more (Biggie)
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more

Verse 3

This goes out for those that choose to use
Disrespectful views on the King of N-Y
Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
Now ya brailling it, snatch that light shit, I’m scaling it
Conscious of ya nonsense, in ’88
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 kings in this rap thing, they siblings
Nothing but my children, one shot they disappearing
It’s ill when MCs 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, fragili, my nine milli
Make the whites shake, that’s why my money never funny
And you still recouping, stupid stupid stupid stupid…

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