Don’t Funk wid the Mo

Sittin' on the seat with my mother and my brother
And my nephew, my nephew's mother's niece
I said "Bless you," "Thank you," she replied
I sighed. My mother said "What's wrong?"
My brother played a song
On the box right next to me
But my nephew's expression looked vexed to me
So I tried to cheer him up. I said "What's up, little VCJ?
Hey, you should be smiling, it's a sunny day
The family together, out in the good weather
Mom, should I sing a song?" She said "Whatever's clever, Trevor"
So I opened my mouth, began, and I sang
To [?] with a funky little man
Sure 'nough I got results, Duane cracked a smile
My mom said "Monie, you's a talented child
I'ma go see my friend who has job as a produca
To hook up the beats that maybe you could get used ta"
She took a long [?] to the producer man's quarters"
He said "Is Monie signed?" Mom said "No, but she oughta"
He said "Well bring her over, so I can get a view
And then after that I know exactly what to do"
My mother came back, she said "Pack up all your demos
To play for the producer." I said "Why?" She said "Who knows?
Suppose you get a break? It's a chance I have to take
You're my daughter. I love you. I think this is your fate."
I went along over. The producer man told her
"Monie is a talented child." She said "I know. The
Talent runs in the genes. But back to the point
If you know what I mean
Will you help my daughter get to get heard and seen"
He said "Sure, just cross my palms with the green."
(Okay, here's your receipt... I'll see you next week.)

She did say "So thank you." They grabbed me, said "Let's go"
Locked me in my room and said "Write a funky song, Mo, yo"
I had my qualms but yo I stayed calm
Wrote on the [?] 'til it was full
Right up to the tippy-top line
And then I just knew that success would be mine
Anyway I took my rhyme sheet to the producer
Along with the beat, cause he was callin', frontin' and all, but yo
I hooked it up quick-fast in the basement, and it was funky
For funky music there is no replacement
Producer man looked up at me, said "We win!"
(Yeah!) I said "We? Since when has this been?" (What?)
"I used your basement, which my mother paid you generously for
Therefore, I been settled the score
You had the chance to contribute this and that
But you ain't do nothing but sit on your butt and slack
I'ma take my rhyme sheets along with my master tapes
Then perform them to the industry, of which it is my fate."
He said "How anybody know I ain't write the song?
I'ma give you hell if you try to do me wrong."
I said "Brother, I'll sweep the floor with you in court
Got names and numbers from other people who bought
That touchy, crusty, crappy personality
Trust me, you must be runnin' from reality
If you feel you can stop me, bro
I'm releasin' my cut, Don't Funk wid the Mo."
(Oh, wow, that was dope)

Back up on the seat with my mother and my brother
And my nephew. My nephew's mother's three
Is she. "How it go, Monie?" "It went as well as I expected
The last few months I've been totally accepted."
"But what about the fellow employees within the industry?"
My mother asked. "They be alright as long as they don't mess with me
I know the ins and outs and I'm learnin' all the time
I won't be taken for a ride; I ain't blind
And mom, as to the friend who had a job as a producer
He moved out the neighborhood because he is a loser
He tried to jeopardize what I was workin' hard towards
So I put him off and said 'Don't Funk wid the Mo.'"
(Huh)
([?])
(She crazy)
(That's why [?], you know what I mean?)
(It ain't worth the money)