Know The Rep

Hahahaha...

Y'all know the rep, yeah, listen

My name is Bumpy Knuckles, I write that fuckin flame

And kill for the right price I got a buckin name

My forty caliber too fresh, stuck in aim

We roll like 18 wheelers in the truckin game

I'm nice with mics there's nothin more I like

than to paralyze your left side and leave you all right

I be layin front of your crib with Tec-y all night

Tryin to get them 9 millimeters loaded up tight, listen

I'm like a Cadillac, I write a battle rap

so smooth contest you'll be out of that

Y'all know the beef is stewin, that Bumpy came to ruin

You may be signed but you don't know what the fuck you doin

I make aight hot, I make dope raw

And send you higher than a long Colt four-four

You know the only rap pimp that kept a ho poor

And slam a fool on his back and break the whole floor

A yes yes y'all, and you don't stop

We keep on, once the cops are gone

This is real street spit you best be warned

Tell your favorite MC the mic is on

A yes yes y'all, and you don't stop

We keep on, once the cops are gone

Yeah, yeah

It's the J daddy, not Hov' or Jam Master

My mic is correct, but y'all know the hands faster

See you bitch rappers I'm attackin the pile

Y'all be cryin foul cause I'm hackin your style

I make sure you and your mans done

When I see y'all both drop, I'm the cat screamin And1

You see me on the team dog you know the game's over

Stones on my wrist, and a chip on my shoulder

Sixteens cashin in on another hot beat

Go cop me a drop with the butterscotch seats

And we better not meet, if we do you gon' see a change

Make sure you whole FACE gettin rearranged

We rollin up in the blacked out truck dog

It's Freddie Foxxx, now you deal with Corrupt Mob

It's gas on the fire, any time a track blaze

Squad known to beef up the Heat, just like the Shaq trade

This my 9 to 5, this ain't no hobby cat

Copycat killers bite styles, my rhyme piles is heavy

Give me a beat, man I'll body that

Spittin that heat street raps man they nod to that

What you smilin at? You R&B, man that's hardly rap

You lost the beat, man you bought a map

Matter fact, here's my next rap, borrow that

Been off the street too long, I want my corner back

You ain't a player, you a armchair quarterback

You ride the beat like side streets on a flat

Don't play dumb, I know where you came from

You only seen slugs buddy after the rain come

Keep it subtle, Trademarc got you bitch

like babies suckin tits talkin 'bout mami let's cuddle

It's gon' be what it's gon' be, you duck down

A quiet cat with a violent rap, what now?

[Chorus]