text: Welcome back, were here on Bad Boy Television, and Im Trevin Jones and Ive been conversing with the Mad Rapper and quite frankly, hes very mad. Were gonna try to find out why, so well take some questions at this point from our studio audience. Yes maam, please stand and state your name and where youre from
  Shay - Hi, my name is Shay, and Im from New Rochelle. and I just dont understand; why you so mad? Like, what are you so mad about?
  The Mad Rapper - Yo, yo, yo-yo, yknow, yo you wanna know why? Yo first of all, you cant be askin me no question youknowhatImsayin? Who the fuck is you? YouknowhatImsayin? You cant be askin me no question 
  Ima tell you why Im mad, youknowhatImsayin? Ima tell you why Im mad, Ima tell you why Im mad. These niggas is makin five hundred thousand dollar videos, youknowsayin? They drivin around in hot cars, youknowsayin? They got bitches, they got all that shit . YouknowhatIms--? Im still livin with my Moms, youknowhatImsayin? Thats my word. YouknowIms--?
  Im makin records, I aint made no money yet I done made, this is my fourth album yo, this my fourth album. I aint made a dime yet. This nigga made one album, he makin wild records. That Ready to Die shit, it was aight, it was aightYouknowImsayin, that shit was aight, it was cool. But my shit is J--more John Blaze than that! I got John Blaze shit And they not resp-ecognising, they not sayin, I recognize And fuck is that, who is you to be askin me questions, youknowhatImsayin? Who is you?
  I gots to talk
  I gotta tell what I feel
  I gotta talk about my life as I see it
  Biggie
  This goes out to you
  This goes out to you, and you, and you, and you
  This goes out to you
  This goes out to you
  This goes out to you, and you, and you
  Uhh, 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 Dada, fuck Poppa
  You got to call me Francis M.H
  White, intake light tokes, tote iron
  Was told in shootouts, stay low and keep firin
  Keep extra clips for extra shit, whos next to
  Flip on that cat with that grip on rap?
  The most shady, Frankie baby
  Aint no telling where
  I may be, may see me in D.C
  At Howard Homecoming with my man Capone, dumbing
  Fucking something, you should know my steelo
  Went from ten Gs for blow to thirty Gs 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
  Youre delicate, you better get - who sent ya?
  You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure
  Biggie 
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more 
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four 
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
  On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
  Look how dark it get when youre marked for death
  Should I start your breath or should I let you die
  In fear you start to cry, ask why, lyrically
  Im worshiped, dont 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
  Dont forget the publishing, I punish em, Im done with them
  Son, Im surprised you run with them, I think they got
  Cum in them cause they nothing but dicks
  Trying to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
  Mad I smoke hydro, rock diamonds thats sick
  Got paid off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
  Take trips to Cairo, laying with your bitch
  I know you praying you was rich, fucking prick, when I see ya Ima
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four 
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more 
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more 
  Kick in the door, waving the four-four
  All you heard was Poppa dont hit me no more
  This goes out for those that choose to use
  Disrespectful views on the King of N-Y
  Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
  Now ya brailling it, snatch that light shit, Im scaling it
  Conscious 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
  Aint no other kings in this rap thing, they siblings
  Nothing but my children, one shot they disappearing
  Its ill when MCs 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, fragili, my nine milli
  Make the whites shake, thats why my money never funny
  And you still recouping, stupid stupid stupid stupid...