Welcome backWe're here on Bad Boy television and I'm Trevin JonesAnd I've been conversing with the mad rapperAnd quite frankly, he's very madWe're gonna try to find out whySo we'll take some questions at this point from our studio audienceYes ma'am, please stand and state your name and where you're fromHi, my name is Shay, and I'm from New RochelleAnd I just don't understand, why you so madLike what are you so mad about?You wanna know why, yo first of all, yo first of all you can'tBe askin' me no question kno' what I'm sayin' who the fuck is you?You kno' what I'm sayin'?You can't be askin' me no questionI'ma tell you why I'm mad, you kno' what I'm sayin'?I'ma tell you why I'm mad, I'ma tell you why I'm madThese niggaz is makin' five hundred thousand dollar videosYou know you sayin', they drivin' around in hot cars,Yuu know you sayin', they got bitches, they got all that shitYou kno' what I'm sayin', I'm still livin' with my momsYou kno' what I'm sayin', that's my wordYou know you saying, I'm makin' records, I ain't made no moneyYet I done made this is my fourth album yo, this my fourth albumI ain't made a dime yetThis nigga made one album, he makin' wild recordsThat Ready to Die shit, it was aight, it was aightYou know I'm sayin', that shit was aight, it was coolBut my shit is more John Blaze than that, I got John Blaze shitAnd they not recognizing, they not sayin' I recognizeAnd fuck is that, who is you to be askin' me questionsYou kno' what I'm sayin', who is you?I gots to talk, I gotta tell what I feelI gotta talk about my life as I see itThis goes out to youThis goes out to you, and you, and you, and youThis goes out to youThis goes out to youThis goes out to you, and you, and you, and youYour reign on the top was short like leprechaunsAs I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-donsGet in that ass, quick fast like ramadanIt's 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 firin'Keep 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 Homecomin'With my man Capone, dumbin, fuckin' somethin'You 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?"Kick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreOn ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wetLook how dark it get, when ya marked with deathShould I start your breath or should I let you die?In fear you start to cry, ask whyLyrically, I'm worshipped, 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 'cuz 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'maKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreKick in the door, wavin' the four-fourAll you heard was Poppa don't hit me no moreThis 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 disappearin'It's 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, that's why my money never funnyAnd you still recoupin', stupid
Songs by The Notorious B.I.G.
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