Lyrics of 'Know The Rep' by John Cena

[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 eighteen 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 nine 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 hoe 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.

[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.

[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?

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.