Drop

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