Bumpy Bring it Home

Lyrics

[Intro: Freddie Foxxx] Ayo, turn the, turn the music up some more In the headphones for me Check it out [c'mon!] You ready, it's Bumpy Knuckles baby Sendin this out to my niggas All them hardcore street corner, wilders Ha, ha, Freddie Foxxx baby That's right, Diamond D baby [Verse 1: Freddie Foxxx] Whoever thought that I'd be Mr. lyrical flows nice Like sunsets on the Rio Grande Pointing at the sisters checkin out their can can My lyrical ability keeps them real niggas That listen to hip hop feelin me I keep it underground, sounds'll bump China Even in Japan they know, I'm the otoko Spit at me verse, like it's my last one Slow ones, fast ones, I blast past them slow gas ones See, I don't think no nigga's nicer than me I'm not conceited, that's how I read it, these niggas need it I dissect your verses like science class frogs I see your rap records is swine, like hogs Now cipher, that's like turnin down Janet for Michelle Pfeiffer See Freddie Foxxx ain't wit that My shit is hotter than cayenne pepper, the mic wrecker The lethal weapon, I keep you high steppin It's not my fault that niggas listen to me And wanna rob shit, cuz I do my motherfuckin job kid If you a thug then you recognize what you see before you Eyes and ears said Freddie Foxxx is here I been layin it, doin it, sayin it Rollin by my motherfuckin self with my burner cocked slayin it And I ain't seen nothing that could make me believe There's a nigga rappin liver than me, you feel me [Hook: Billy Danze of M.O.P.] You in a class of ya own! Bumpy's in a zone! (Leave Bumpy alone!) Bumpy, get it on! Bumpy spit chromes, Bumpy hold the throne! Now - Bumpy, bring it home! You in a class of ya own! Bumpy's in a zone! (Leave Bumpy alone!) Bumpy, get it on! Bumpy spit chromes, Bumpy hold the throne! Now - Bumpy, bring it home! [Verse 2: Freddie Foxxx] I wore Rolex watches and alligator shoes When niggas thought devil jeans was the big news I had fifty miles on my brand new Benz in '89 When you wanted me to critique your rhyme It just was all right Niggas brought rappers to me, for approval Now I give you sixteen bars, for removal (Fuck outta here) I punch you in your temple make you stagger like Yeltsin Over hand right to the brain is what you felt, son Then I take off my belt, son Show you what a whippin' is, what a true real mic rippin' is See, fake niggas can't make it hard for real niggas, 'cause There's no defense for the truth – so what the deal, nigga? No matter who tell it, real niggas always prevail Just like a fake nigga always fail Nigga's livin' in a fairy tale, until he get beef Then he want peace... bitch, you just a rap pussy You come against a lyrical lunatic? I'll make it blacker than midnight, at 12 o'clock noon and shit I keep rollin like the black Navi with them Mickey Thompsons Halogen lights, I keep my flow tight The new Bumpy shit is like the new Jordans when they come out Got emcees rappin' wit' they gun out Memorize lyrics then I spit 'em to the needy Send love to my nigga Tweety, and can you feel me? [Hook: Billy Danze of M.O.P.] You in a class of ya own! Bumpy's in a zone! (Leave Bumpy alone!) Bumpy, get it on! Bumpy spit chromes, Bumpy hold the throne! Now - Bumpy, bring it home! You in a class of ya own! Bumpy's in a zone! (Leave Bumpy alone!) Bumpy, get it on! Bumpy spit chromes, Bumpy hold the throne! Now - Bumpy, bring it home! [Verse 3: Freddie Foxxx] I'm to the mic what stick up kids is to dark alleys What Slick Rick is to Bally's What played out New York niggas is to Cali Runnin' from the ill shit I do what record labels don't like: the real shit Money is energy, I'm hyped up Step on stage with that bullshit, get hand wiped up I be up in your crib, with my two black sigs in your ribs Takin' everything you got to give The black Robin Hood, I rock for niggas that can't afford Rolies (Check it out) Ridin around in tagged-up stolies I keep it truth, like the Holy Qu'ran Here's a game plan, ambush, best attack, hit off my man I make you niggas listen to some lyrical shit Some miracle shit, some empirical shit Now I'm in flipmode, I got my gun in your brain And make you run ya ch ch ch cha ch ch ch cha chain Bumpy plays no games, it's all real here Can't get my gun in the club, I keep it real near I'm harder than a bulletproof vest wrapped around a steel pole Send chills all through your body like real soul James Brown or The Meters I'm gunnin' for you no-talent rap style eaters When Diamond D blessed me, I had to come rugged Or unplug it, only true thugs can thug shit [Hook: Billy Danze of M.O.P.] You in a class of ya own! Bumpy's in a zone! (Leave Bumpy alone!) Bumpy, get it on! Bumpy spit chromes, Bumpy hold the throne! Now - Bumpy, bring it home! You in a class of ya own! Bumpy's in a zone! (Leave Bumpy alone!) Bumpy, get it on! Bumpy spit chromes, Bumpy hold the throne! Now - Bumpy, bring it home!