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Kick In The Door
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Welcome back. *audience applauds*
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We're here on Bad Boy television, and I'm Trevin Jones
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and I've been conversing with the Mad Rapper.
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And quite frankly -- he's very mad.
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We're gonna TRY to find out why; so we'll take some questions
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at this point from our studio audience.
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Yes ma'am, please stand and state your name, and where you're from.
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Hi, my name is Shay, and I'm from New Rochelle
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and, I just don't understand, why you so mad. (yo, yo)
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Like what are you so mad about? (yo, yo, y-y-yo)
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You wanna know why, yo first of all, yo first of all you can't
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be askin me no question knowhatI'msayin who the fuck is you?
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(Ahh, excuse me, Mr. Rapper, Mr. Rapper.) YouknowhatI'msayin?
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You can't be askin me no question (It's a family oriented show.)
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I'ma tell you why I'm mad, youknowhatI'msayin? I'ma tell you why
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I'm mad. I'ma tell you why I'm mad. These niggaz is makin five
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hundred thousand dollar videos, yunusayin? They drivin around in
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hot cars, yunusayin? They got bitches, they got all that shit.
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(Sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language.)
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YouknowhatI'msayin? I'm still livin with my MOMS, youknowhatI'msayin?
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That's my word. Yunusayin? I'm makin records I ain't made no money
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yet I done made this is my fourth album yo, this my FOURTH ALBUM.
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I ain't made a dime yet. This nigga made one album, he makin wild
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records. That Ready to Die shit, it was aight, it was aight,
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yunumsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit is
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more John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit. And they not
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recognizing, they not sayin I recognize. And fuck is that, who
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is you to be askin me questions, youknowhatI'msayin? Who is you?
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*Mad Rapper fades out*
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[cut and scratched "I gots to talk. I gotta tell what I feel.
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I gotta talk about my life as I see it!"]
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Intro: repeat 2X ('Biggie' repeats every line of beat)
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This goes out to you
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This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you
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Verse One:
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Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
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As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
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Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
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Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck Poppa
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You got ta, call me, Francis M.H. White
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in tank-light totes, tote iron
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Was told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firin
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Keep extra clips for extra shit
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Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
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The mo shady, "Tell em!", Frankie baby
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Ain't no tellin where I may be
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May see me in D.C. at Howard Homecomin
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with my man Capone, dumbin, fuckin somethin
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You should know my steelo
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Went from ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
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to orgies with hoes I never seen befo'
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so, Jesus, get off the Notorious
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penis, before I squeeze and bust
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If the beef between us, we can settle it
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With the chrome and metal shit
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I make it hot, like a kettle get
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You're delicate, you better get, who sent ya?
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You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure
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Biggie, "How are you gonna do it?"
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Chorus: repeat 4X
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Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
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All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
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Verse Two:
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On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
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Look how dark it get, when ya marked with death
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Should I start your breath should I let you die
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In fear you start to cry, ask why
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Lyrically, I'm worser, don't front the word sick
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You cursed it, but rehearsed it
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I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
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You herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and show money
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Don't forget the publishin, I punish em, I'm done with them
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Son, I'm surprised you run with them
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I think they got cum in them, cause they, nothin but dicks
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Tryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
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Mad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, that's sick
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Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own click
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Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo bitch
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I know you prayin you was rich, fuckin prick
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When I see ya I'ma
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Chorus
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Verse Three:
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This goes out for those that choose to use
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Disrespectful views on the King of NY
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Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your e |