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 her [?]?" 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, 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 bass, now 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 [?] 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)