From:
[Freddie Foxxx a.k.a. Bumpy Knuckles]
Hahahaha...
Yīall 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
Iīm nice with mics thereīs 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
Iīm like a Cadillac, I write a battle rap
so smooth contest youīll be out of that
Yīall know the beef is stewin, that Bumpy came to ruin
You may be signed but you donīt 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
[Chorus: Bumpy Knuckles]
A yes yes yīall, and you donīt 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 yīall, and you donīt stop
We keep on, once the cops are gone
[John Cena]
Yeah, yeah
Itīs the J daddy, not Hovī or Jam Master
My mic is correct, but yīall know the hands faster
See you bitch rappers Iīm attackin the pile
Yīall be cryin foul cause Iīm hackin your style
I make sure you and your mans done
When I see yīall both drop, Iīm the cat screamin And1
You see me on the team dog you know the gameīs 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 gonī see a change
Make sure you whole FACE gettin rearranged
We rollin up in the blacked out truck dog
Itīs Freddie Foxxx, now you deal with Corrupt Mob
Itīs gas on the fire, any time a track blaze
Squad known to beef up the Heat, just like the Shaq trade
[Tha Trademarc]
This my 9 to 5, this ainīt no hobby cat
Copycat killers bite styles, my rhyme piles is heavy
Give me a beat, man Iīll body that
Spittin that heat street raps man they nod to that
What you smilin at? You R&B, man thatīs hardly rap
You lost the beat, man you bought a map
Matter fact, hereīs my next rap, borrow that
Been off the street too long, I want my corner back
You ainīt a player, you a armchair quarterback
You ride the beat like side streets on a flat
Donīt 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 ībout mami letīs cuddle
Itīs gonī be what itīs gonī be, you duck down
A quiet cat with a violent rap, what now?
[Chorus]
Translate to:
[Freddie Foxxx a.k.a. Bumpy Knuckles]
Hahahaha...
Yīall 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
Iīm nice with mics thereīs 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
Iīm like a Cadillac, I write a battle rap
so smooth contest youīll be out of that
Yīall know the beef is stewin, that Bumpy came to ruin
You may be signed but you donīt 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
[Chorus: Bumpy Knuckles]
A yes yes yīall, and you donīt 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 yīall, and you donīt stop
We keep on, once the cops are gone
[John Cena]
Yeah, yeah
Itīs the J daddy, not Hovī or Jam Master
My mic is correct, but yīall know the hands faster
See you bitch rappers Iīm attackin the pile
Yīall be cryin foul cause Iīm hackin your style
I make sure you and your mans done
When I see yīall both drop, Iīm the cat screamin And1
You see me on the team dog you know the gameīs 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 gonī see a change
Make sure you whole FACE gettin rearranged
We rollin up in the blacked out truck dog
Itīs Freddie Foxxx, now you deal with Corrupt Mob
Itīs gas on the fire, any time a track blaze
Squad known to beef up the Heat, just like the Shaq trade
[Tha Trademarc]
This my 9 to 5, this ainīt no hobby cat
Copycat killers bite styles, my rhyme piles is heavy
Give me a beat, man Iīll body that
Spittin that heat street raps man they nod to that
What you smilin at? You R&B, man thatīs hardly rap
You lost the beat, man you bought a map
Matter fact, hereīs my next rap, borrow that
Been off the street too long, I want my corner back
You ainīt a player, you a armchair quarterback
You ride the beat like side streets on a flat
Donīt 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 ībout mami letīs cuddle
Itīs gonī be what itīs gonī be, you duck down
A quiet cat with a violent rap, what now?
[Chorus]