Lyrical Breakdown of Kick in the Door - 2005 Remaster - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Kick in the Door - 2005 Remaster" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

  • Lyric Overview: Witness how The Notorious B.I.G. weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Kick in the Door - 2005 Remaster" is a testament to masterful songwriting.
  • Rhyme and Rhythm Analysis: Our Lazyjot editor highlights the ingenious use of multi-syllabic rhymes and the rhythm pattern that The Notorious B.I.G. employs. Understand the construction of each verse and how it contributes to the song's overall impact.
  • Syllable Pattern Insights: Dive deeper into the structural elements of the lyrics. See how the syllable count varies across the song, adding a unique rhythm and flow to The Notorious B.I.G.'s narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Kick in the Door - 2005 Remaster" not only celebrates The Notorious B.I.G.'s artistic prowess but also serves as an educational tool for aspiring songwriters. If this analysis inspires you and you'd like to see your own songs analyzed in this way, join the Lazyjot community. Register at Lazyjot and start exploring the full potential of your lyrical creativity. Turn your thoughts into rhymes and your rhymes into songs with Lazyjot!

Biggie

Uh; uh-uh

Uh

This goes out to you

This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you (Biggie)

This goes out to you

This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you (Biggie)

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 before

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?

Do it

Kick in the door, wavin the four-four

All you heard was poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin the four-four

All you heard was poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin the four-four

All you heard was poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, wavin the four-four

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

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 (stupid, stupid, stupid)