歌词
作词 : Chris Martin/Jalacy Hawkins/Notorious B.I.G.
作曲 : Chris Martin/Jalacy Hawkins/Notorious B.I.G.
Kick in the Door Lyrics
[Segue from "Hypnotize"]
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your...
[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 **** is you?
TREVIN JONES: Ahh, excuse me, Mr. Rapper, Mr. Rapper
THE MAD RAPPER: YouknowhatI'msayin? You can't be askin' me no question
TREVIN JONES: It's a family-oriented show
THE MAD RAPPER: 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' $500,000 videos, youknowsayin?
They drivin' around in hot cars, youknowsayin?
They got bitches, they got all that shit
TREVIN JONES: Sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language
THE MAD RAPPER: 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 aight, youknowI'msayin
That shit was a'ight, 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 **** is that, who is you to be askin' me questions, youknowhatI'msayin? Who is you?
[Interlude: Martin Lawrence & The Notorious B.I.G.]
I gots to talk
I gotta tell what I feel (Mhm)
I gotta talk about my life as I see it
[Intro: The Notorious B.I.G.]
(Biggie)
Uh, uh-huh
Uh, this goes out to you (Biggie)
This goes out to you
And you, and you, and you (Biggie)
This goes out to you
This goes out to you (Biggie)
This goes out to you
And you, and you (Uh)
[Verse 1]
Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
As I crush so-called willies, thugs and rapper-dons (Uh)
Get in that ass quick-fast like Ramadan
It's that rap phenomenon Don Dada, **** Poppa
You gotta 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 (Uh-huh)
Who's next to flip on that cat with that grip on rap?
The most shady (Tell 'em!) Frankie, baby
Ain't no tellin' where I may be
May see me in D.C.
At Howard Homecoming with my man Capone, dumbin'
****in' 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]
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more"
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more"
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more" (Biggie)
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44 (Uh-huh)
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more (Uh, uh-huh)
[Verse 2]
On ya mark, get set when I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get when you're marked for death (Uh)
Should I start your breath, or should I let ya 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 publishin', I punish 'em (Uh-huh), I'm done with them (Uh-huh)
Son, I'm surprised you run with them
I think they got cum in them, 'cause they nothin' but dicks
Tryna 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, layin' wit' yo' bitch
I know you prayin' you was rich, ****in' prick, when I see ya, I'ma...
[Chorus]
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44 (Uh-huh)
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more" (Uh, uh, uh)
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more"
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more" (Biggie)
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44
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
**** that, why try? Throw bleach in ya eye
Now ya braillin' it, snatch that light shit, I'm scalin' it
Conscious of ya nonsense, in '88
Sold more powder than Johnson & Johnson
Tote steel like Bronson, Vigilante
You wanna get on, son? You need to aks me
Ain't no other kings in this rap thing, they siblings
Nothin' but my children, one shot — they disappearin' (Uh)
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 lightweight, fragili, my 9 milli'
Make the whites shake, that's why my money never funny
And you still recoupin', stupid!
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...