Don't Funk Wid The Mo - Monie Love

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)