:: John Cena feat Bumpy Knuckles - Know the red ::.




[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]