Kick in the Door Lyrics

[Intro: repeat 2X] - ('Biggie' repeats every line of beat)
This goes out to you
This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you
[Verse One]
Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
As I crush so-called w******, thugs, and rapper-dons
Get in that a**, quick fast, like ramadan
It's that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, f*** 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 s***
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 homecomin
with my man Capone, dumbin, f***** 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
p****, before I squeeze and bust
If the beef between us, we can settle it
With the chrome and metal s***
I make it hot, like a kettle get
You're delicate, you better get - who sent ya?
You still pedal s***, I got more rhymes than "Great Adventure"
Biggie ("How are you gonna do it?")
[Chorus: repeat 4X]
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more

[Verse Two]
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 should I let you die
In fear you start to cry, ask why
Lyrically, I'm worshipped, don't front the word sick
You cursed it, but rehearsed it
I drop unexpectedly like bird s***
You herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and show money
Don't forget the publishin, I punish em, I'm done with them
Son, I'm surprised you run with them
I think they got c** in them, cause they, nothin but d***s
Tryin 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 click
Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo' b****
I know you prayin you was rich, f***** p****
When I see ya I'ma

[Verse Three]
This goes out for those that choose to use
disrespectful views on the King of NY
f*** that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
Now ya braille in it, stash that light s***, 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
Ain't no other king in this rap thing
They siblings, nothing but my chil'ren
One shot, they disappearin
It's ill when, MC's used to be on cruddy s***
Took home, "Ready to Die," listened, studied s***
Now they on some money s***, 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 {*echoes*}
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