Let me freak the funk   Obsolete is the punk that talk more junk than Sanford sells   I jet propel at a rate that complice their mental state   As I invade their masquerade      They couldn't fade with a clipper blade   10 years in the trade is not enough, you can't cut it   I let you take a swing, and you bunted   For an easy out, I leave MC's with doubt      Of exceeding, my name is Bottie Brown and I'm proceeding, leading   They try to follow but they're shallow and hollow   I can see right through them like an empty 40 bottle, of O.E.   They have no key, or no clue      To the game at all, now they washed up   Hung out to dry   Standing looking stupid, wondering why   (Why man?)      It was the fame, that they tried to get   Now they walking around talking about represent   And keep it real, but I got to appeal   'Cause they existing in a fantasy when holding the steel      Rock a bye baby   Listen to my heart pumping to a fine ravine   Of all things it's a vain of a shrine   All missions impossible are possible      'Cause I'm heading for a new sector 365 days from now   I'll wipe the sweat from my brow   And each and every true will stick, or fall from the sky of my cloud nine   From homies all the way to chics, no matter how fine      Controlling is a swollen way to wreck a proud mind   You hold it in your hands and watch a man start crying   Tear after tear in the puppet man's hands   Every time you take a stance you do the puppet man's dance      And the worlds at a stand-still   Deep in broken Mansville, trapped in the moat with an anvil   Still killing yourself, and dogging ya health   You ain't amphibious, so grab a hold of yourself