Kick In The Door lyrics

Intro: repeat 2X
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 willies thugs and rapper dons
Get in that ass quick fast like Romma Don
Its that rap phenomenon
Don Dadda fuck Poppa
You got ta call me Francis M.H. White
In tank light totes tote eyein
Was told in shootout
Stay low, and keep firin
Keep extra clips for extra shit
Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rack
The mo shady, cranky baby
Ain't no tellin where I may be
May see me in DC at Howard Homes
Comin, with my man Capone, Dummin, fuckin somethin
You should know my stilo
Went from 10 G's for blow to 30 Gs a show
To orgies with hoes I never seen before
So, Jesus, get off the Notorious penis
before I squeeze and bust
If theres beef between us
We can settle it
With that chrome-metal shit
I make it hot, like a kettle get
You're delicate, you better get
Who sent ya?
You're still peddle shit
I got more rides than Great Adventure
Biggie
Chorus: repeat 4X
Kick in the door wavin the four-four
All you heard was poppa don't hit no more
Verse Two:
On ya mark, get set
when I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get
When ya marked with death
Should I start ya breath
Or should I let you die
In fear you start to cry, ask why
Lyrically, I'm worser
Don't front the word sick
You cursed it, but rehearsed it
I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
You perps get, stuck quickly for raw tease 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 cum in them
Cuz they, nothin but dicks
Tryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
Man I smoke hydro rock diamonds, thats sick
Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo bitch
I know you prayin you was rich
Fuckin prick
When I see ya I'ma
Chorus
Verse Three:
This goes out to those that choose to use
Disrespectful view on the King of NY
Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in ya eye
Now ya Braille'in it, stash that light shit
Or scalin it
Conscience of ya nonsense in 88,
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 maturin, one shot, they disappearin
Its ill when, MC's used to be on crazy shit
Took home, Ready To Die, listen, study 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