Kick In The Door

Welcome back
Were here on Bad Boy television and Im Trevin Jones
And Ive been conversing with the mad rapper
And quite frankly, hes very mad
Were gonna try to find out why
So well take some questions at this point from our studio audience

Yes maam, please stand and state your name and where youre from
Hi, my name is Shay, and Im from New Rochelle
And I just dont 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 Im sayin who the f**k is you?
You kno what Im sayin?
You cant be askin me no question
Ima tell you why Im mad, you kno what Im sayin?
Ima tell you why Im mad, Ima tell you why Im 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 Im sayin, Im still livin with my moms
You kno what Im sayin, thats my word
You know you saying, Im makin records, I aint made no money
Yet I done made this is my fourth album yo, this my fourth album
I aint 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 Im sayin, that shit was aight, it wascool
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 Im 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
Its 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
Whos next to flip on that cat with that grip on rap
The mo shady, 'Tell em', Frankie baby
Aint 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 Gs for blow to thirty Gs 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
Youre 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 dont hit me no more
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
Kick in the door , wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa dont 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, Im worshipped, dont 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
Dont forget the publishin, I punish em, Im done with them
Son, Im 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, thats 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 Ima
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
Kick in the door, wavin the four -four
All you heard was Poppadont hit me no more
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa dont 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
Aint no other king in this rap thing
They siblings, nothing but my chilren
One shot, they disappearin

Its 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, fragilly, my nine milly
Make the white shake, thats why my money never funny
And you still recoupin, stupid