Bumpy Knuckles Baby lyrics

by

Pete Rock


[Verse 1]
Feel me, I bet you've never seen a n*gga that get raw like me
Gun in your face, put n*ggas on the floor like me
Who go to war like me? Flip a whore like me?
Put the squeeze on rap competitors like me
Get less and make more like me
Hunt a n*gga down like the Predator like me
Keep the Macs in the drawer like me
How many n*ggas really raw to the motherf*cking hardcore like me?
It's Bumpy Knuckles baby, I got lyrical styles forever
My endevor is to smash you punk motherf*ckers
I do it to young n*ggas, old n*ggas, rock n*ggas, soul n*ggas
Scared n*ggas, bold n*ggas, since '89 I told n*ggas
I'm still ripping with this timeless sh*t
While you n*ggas spit that offbeat rhymless sh*t
My life is full of hard times and sh*t
So all I rhyme about is whooping n*ggas asses and crime and sh*t

[Hook]
Who got the hardest MC style ever created?
(Bumpy Knuckles baby! Bumpy Knuckles baby!)
Who got celebrity status and it's still underrated?
(Bumpy Knuckles baby! Bumpy Knuckles baby!)
Who got them two hot nines that be black and nickle-plated?
(Bumpy Knuckles baby! Bumpy Knuckles baby!)
And I blow a n*gga chest out to keep me motivated
(Bumpy Knuckles baby! Bumpy Knuckles baby!)
[Verse 2]
I spit the murder one verses for them thugs that be thuggin'
Freddie Foxxx be bussin dem slugs at who be bugging
I get it everywhere that I go, thug loving
Cause it's fatter than Star Jones and Rosie hugging
I've been lyrically inclined since I thought about a rhyme
Plus I knew the only thing I couldn't kill was time
So I started a long ten-year climb doing mine
While them fake n*ggas stay in a rush to stay behind
Bum py, I spit the flames til the mic's set afire
I'm a fighter not a crier, don't care who you hire
Kill your street team, burn your flyers
n*ggas need Jacoby & Meyers for being liars, now feel me
Calling major labels, tell 'em Bumpy Knuckles is in town
Tell 'em don't send no rappers out or I'm a gun 'em down
It's the king of the underground sound, get ready for the Industry Shakedown
Yo Pete, break it down

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
Yo get the f*ck up out my face, B, I'm an MC
Not some fake-ass rapper kissing ass at the Gavin
Asking how can he be down, I make impact
Like the four-pound slug ripping through a n*gga cap
I guarantee that, now here's a fact
n*ggas ain't selling records, let alone a key of crack
You stare at me too long, B, your ice grill will melt down to water
And I check you like I check my daughter
Now turn it up, it's the pit amongst mutts, huh, I'm off the chain
Off the pen or off the brain, I bring it to you n*ggas
Like I'm f*cking insane, huh, you heard it pop
Now you snitching like Colin Fergueson at Comstock
You ain't a thug, B, I'm rougher than rugby
The real n*ggas tolerate you, but the thugs love me
b*tches in every city want to hug me
A n*gga would rather shoot his f*cking self before he ever slug me
[Hook]
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