FUCK ME, Freestyler by Bomfunk MCs is one of the best songs ever made. Back when you could buy singles on CD (which if I remember rightly, were like tapes, but more flat), it was one of only four I ever bought (the others being One More Time by Daft Punk, I Disappear by Metallica and Phatt Bass by Warp Brothers vs. Aquagen, obviously). It is undeniably a stone-cold banger in every possible sense of the word.

Look, see:

I still listen to it all the time, and was doing just that the other day, when suddenly I realised that even though I know all the lyrics off-by-heart (ladies), I have absolutely ZERO clue what they mean. They are almost nonsense of Scooter proportions. So I thought I’d rectify that, and stuff my big nose right into the midst of them to finally work out what they’re all about, once and for all.

As such, here is a very in-depth analysis of the lyrics to Freestyler:

F-f-f-f-fuh freestyler

Pretty self-explanatory here – we’re talking about the main character in the song, who is most likely B.O. Dubb, the only MC in the plurally named Bomfunk MCs. What does B.O. Dubb mean? That he has double the body odour? In both armpits, I assume.

Rock the microphone

Again, easy – B.O. Dubb is letting everyone know that he can completely take control of the microphone and give a strong lyrical performance. He’s rocking it in the same way you might rock a party, an outfit, or some scissors.

Straight from the top of my dome

Freestyle is a type of rap that is supposed to be relayed to the crowd off the top of your head, or “dome”, in this case. It’s a great way to get yourself off the hook and to potentially excuse some of your less coherent lyrics. You know, like when you accidentally rhyme “Celine Dion” with “Karma Chameleon”.

Freestyler, rock the microphone

Carry on with the freestyler

When I was younger I used to think that the “Eeeee-arryon” bit was actually “Eeeee-ero” (stereo), which would still make sense, but I think it’s actually “carry on”. So let’s “carry on”, with the freestyler.

I got to uh

Maybe this whole freestyling thing isn’t for B.O.Dubb – he’s already fucked up.

To throw on, and go on

Don’t worry, his hesitation was short-lived – he’s back in the game and presumably “throwing on” a record onto the player, even though the music is already playing. He’s fiddling with perceptions of time and space already – very ambitious for this early in the song.

You know I got to flow on, selectors on your radio play us

He’s just letting everyone know that he’s “got to” carry on with his lyrics, because that’s his job and he needs to eat. As such, it would be very helpful if radio DJs (or selectors) would play his songs on their stations. Quick call to action before he properly gets going, nice.

Cause we're friendly to ozone, but that's not all so hold on

P.S., he refrains from using CFCs, which is comforting to know. I want my Finnish electro groups to be kind to the environment. But there’s more:

Tight as I rock the mic right, oh, excuse me, pardon

I think he might be referring to the tightness of his arsehole here, because he then subsequently farts, before politely excusing himself.

As I synchronize with the analysed upcoming vibes

He’s done his research with the backing track, so he clearly knows what’s coming next, and will make sure that his lyrics fit whatever comes around the corner. Boasting about knowing your own song might seem a tad redundant, but you’d be surprised.

The session, let there be a lesson

He’s assuming the role of teacher and holding a class on lyrical content. I much prefer this to year 9 chemistry.

Question: do you carry protection? Or will your heart go on, like Celine Dion?

Woah, suddenly he’s adding a sex education class to the mix. Such a rogue teacher. Here, he appears to suddenly ask me if I have a condom in my wallet. Yes I do, it has been there for five years now, big whoop. He then offers up the alternative to holstering a sheath, which seems to be something to do with Titanic and death. Wear a condom or you’ll drown, basically.

Karma Chameleon

Alright mate, don’t have to call me out. Bit out of the blue there, not really sure why you’ve got that idea about me, but this is a sure-fire way to get your audience off-side, bro.

Yeah, straight from the top of my dome

As I rock-rock, rock-rock, rock the microphone

Back to the chorus, easy stuff. Still all off the top of his head, and he’s still commanding that microphone, big time. In fact, he’s doing it five times. Or if we counter in the fact that the chorus is repeating four times, he’s actually doing it TIMES TWENTY. Repetition is key.

Styles, steelos, we bring many kilos

Second verse, and he’s got “styles” AND “steelos”, which are both the same thing, but one is a bit Spanish. He brings kilos of them, too, which is good news for us listeners. Or he could be talking about drugs, which seems a bit hypocritical coming from someone who was just lecturing me about the dangers of sex a minute ago.

So you could pick yours, from the various

He’s letting us know that we can choose which of his rap variants we want to hear. Either that, or which drug we want to take.

Ambitious, nutritious, delicious, delirious or vicious

Oh, it’s drugs. Clearly: a kilogram of cocaine, some Vitamin C tablets, a spoon of Calpol, a spoon of Calpol with acid in it or heroin cut with cyanide.

Just tell us, we deliver anything

OK, fucking hell man, you’re gonna get yourself arrested here. Pipe down.

From acapellas to propellers

These must be streetnames for drugs or something. Unless he’s actually got a sideline in selling literal propellers, which I didn’t realise was a lucrative arena. Suppose you’re always gonna need planes and fans.

Suckers get jealous

Here he’s cussing out anyone and everyone, saying they’re envious of his rapping and/or drug dealing prowess. Fair enough, he does have kilos.

But they're soft like marshmallows, you know they can't handle us

Makes sense, marshmallows are soft, so are suckers. And yes, correct, I do know that they can’t handle you, B.O. Dubb.

Like Debbie does Dallas, yeah, we come scandalous

Here, he’s either saying that Debbie from Debbie Does Dallas can’t handle them just like the suckers can’t, but in my opinion, based on the number of people she “handles” during that film, I’d say that he’s probably not. Instead, I’d say they’re comparing themselves to Debbie from Debbie Does Dallas, presumably in the sense that they are controversial and rebellious, rather than that they have had sex with an entire American football team.

So who the fuck is Alice, is she from Buckingham Palace?

Unfortunately, for the last true line of the song, he’s loses it a bit here. It comes completely from left-field and makes no sense whatsoever. It’s like he thought “Fuck it, I haven’t yet got a reference to the Queen or Roy Chubby Brown in this song yet – that needs sorting, ASAP.” Still, at least it means they can slam a “PARENTAL ADVISORY: EXPLICIT LYRICS” sticker on the front. Instant kudos from young me and my hugely baggy jeans.

Yeah, straight from the top of my dome

As I rock-rock, rock-rock, rock the microphone

Freestyler, rock the microphone

Straight from the top of my dome

Freestyler, rock the microphone

Carry on with the freestyler

Yeah, straight from the top of my dome

As I rock-rock, rock-rock, rock the microphone

As the song comes to a close, he merely continues to hammer home the message that he’s the best freestyler and that he made it all up as he went along.

Wowzer, what an unbelievably good song. And now we all know exactly what it’s about: the environment, farts, sex education, drug dealing and Roy Chubby Brown. I’ll never listen to it the same way again. Mentally, I won’t, anyway; physically, I shall continue to listen to it naked.