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Absolutly Correct (Only notes will be sent) Mostly Correct, yet... The lyrics are wrong Very Wrong Not the lyrics to KNOW THE REP
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Lyric Body	[Freddie Foxxx a.k.a. Bumpy Knuckles] 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 [Chorus: Bumpy Knuckles] 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 [John Cena] 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 [Tha Trademarc] 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]
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