Welcome back. *audience applauds*
  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.
    Hi, my name is Shay, and I'm from New Rochelle
  and, I just don't understand, why you so mad. (yo, yo)
  Like what are you so mad about? (yo, yo, y-y-yo)
    You wanna know why, yo first of all, yo first of all you can't
  be askin me no question knowhatI'msayin who the fuck is you?
  (Ahh, excuse me, Mr. Rapper, Mr. Rapper.) YouknowhatI'msayin?
  You can't be askin me no question (It's a family oriented show.)
  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 niggaz is makin five
  hundred thousand dollar videos, yunusayin? They drivin around in
  hot cars, yunusayin? They got bitches, they got all that shit.
  (Sir, please, please, refrain from your foul language.)
  YouknowhatI'msayin? I'm still livin with my MOMS, youknowhatI'msayin?
  That's my word. Yunusayin? 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,
  yunumsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit is
  more John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit. And they not
  recognizing, they not sayin I recognize. And fuck is that, who
  is you to be askin me questions, youknowhatI'msayin? Who is you?
  [Mad Rapper fades out]
    [cut and scratched "I gots to talk. I gotta tell what I feel.
  I gotta talk about my life as I see it!"]
    [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 willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
  Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
  Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck 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 shit
  Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
  The mo 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, fuckin 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: 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 ya marked with death
  Should I start your breath 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 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 cum in them, cause they, nothin but dicks
  Tryin to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
  Mad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, that's sick
  Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own click
  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 for those that choose to use
  Disrespectful views on the King of NY
  Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
  Now ya Braille in it, stash that light shit, 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
  Its ill when, MC's 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 light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
  make the white shake, thats why my money never funny
  And you still recoupin, stupid [echoes]