Notorious B. I. G.

Kick In The Door

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641 3 часа назад

Текст песни Notorious B. I. G. - Kick In The Door

Notorious B. I. G. - Kick In The Door слова песни

Welcome back. *audience applauds*We`re here on Bad Boy television, and I`m Trevin Jonesand 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 questionsat 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 Rochelleand, 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`tbe 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 whyI`m mad. I`ma tell you why I`m mad. These niggaz is makin fivehundred thousand dollar videos, yunusayin? They drivin around inhot 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 moneyyet 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 wildrecords. That Ready to Die shit, it was aight, it was aight,yunumsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit ismore John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit. And they notrecognizing, they not sayin I recognize. And fuck is that, whois 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 youThis goes out to you, and you, and you, and you [Verse One]Your reign on the top was short like leprechaunsAs I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-donsGet in that ass, quick fast, like ramadanIts that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck PoppaYou got ta, call me, Francis M.H. Whitein tank-light totes, tote ironWas told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firinKeep extra clips for extra shitWho`s next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rapThe mo shady, "Tell em!", Frankie babyAin`t no tellin where I may beMay see me in D.C. at Howard Homecominwith my man Capone, dumbin, fuckin somethinYou should know my steeloWent from ten G`s for blow to thirty G`s a showto orgies with hoes I never seen befo`so, Jesus, get off the Notoriouspenis, before I squeeze and bustIf the beef between us, we can settle itWith the chrome and metal shitI make it hot, like a kettle getYou`re delicate, you better get, who sent ya?You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great AdventureBiggie, "How are you gonna do it?" Chorus: repeat 4X Kick in the door, wavin the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don`t hit me no more [Verse Two]On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wetLook how dark it get, when ya marked with deathShould I start your breath should I let you dieIn fear you start to cry, ask whyLyrically, I`m worser, don`t front the word sickYou cursed it, but rehearsed itI drop unexpectedly like bird shitYou herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and show moneyDon`t forget the publishin, I punish em, I`m done with themSon, I`m surprised you run with themI think they got cum in them, cause they, nothin but dicksTryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticksMad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, that`s sickGot pay off my flow, rhyme with my own clickTake trips to Cairo, layin with yo bitchI know you prayin you was rich, fuckin prickWhen I see ya I`ma Chorus [Verse Three]This goes out for those that choose to useDisrespectful views on the King of NYFuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eyeNow ya Braille in it, stash that light shit, or scalin itConscience of ya nonsense in eighty-eightSold more powder than Johnson and JohnsonTote steel like Bronson, vigilanteYou wanna get on son, you need to ask meAin`t no other king in this rap thingThey siblings, nothing but my chil`renOne shot, they disappearinIts ill when, MC`s used to be on cruddy shitTook home, Ready to Die, listened, studied shitNow they on some money shit, successful out the blueThey light weight, fragilly, my nine millymake the white shake, thats why my money never funnyAnd you still recoupin, stupid *echoes*

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