Song | Biochemical Equation |
Artist | Wu-Tang Clan |
Album | Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture Instrumentals |
作曲 : Diggs, Dumile | |
[RZA] Tempted by the sins of life, the pleasures of lust | |
With wild imaginings that you can't discuss | |
Oh, the flesh is weak, it's a struggle for feast | |
It's a daily conflict between man and beast | |
We, strive for | |
God, and a better tomorrow | |
Still suffering, from the unforgettable sorrow | |
Repent from thy sins, son, and walk these straight | |
Stop talking all that trash, boy, and spark these straight | |
Evicted by the pressures of life, at every vital point | |
Still, I wouldn't give an oint' | |
Or, flinch an inch, or pitch a pinch | |
Off the pie, or every try to try your winch | |
Confronted by the devil himself, and stay strong | |
You think you can take the | |
King, now meet | |
Kong Strong as the base of a mountain, there's no counting | |
How many M | |
C's, have sprung from our fountain | |
Fifty thousand year process, to make this combination | |
I'm not, giving mine away to | |
Satan Although, | |
I know that he's awaiting | |
To get ahold of my biochemical equation | |
I'mma slip him son, | |
I'mma dip him, son | |
When I catch the drop on him, | |
I'mma clip him, son | |
Fifty thousand year process, to make this combination | |
Ninety nine elements, biochemical manifestation | |
I'm not giving mines away to | |
Satan Although, | |
I know that he's awaiting | |
I'mma slip him son, | |
I'mma dip him, son | |
When I catch the drop on him, | |
I'mma clip him, son [MF Doom] | |
Bet oc', straight to the head with the pet rock | |
At least til | |
I can get from out this booth, it's like a sweat box | |
Trained a few bars of head nodding, throw us a stack | |
Pants militant sawed up like linen, bobbing bonus pack | |
Invest in the first b-boy kid show, life on skid row, with jive talking negro's | |
He wear his beard like a frizzly haired grizzly | |
And kept his appearances exquisitely rare, where is he? | |
Is he in the backyard, or on your front porch | |
Or standing in the corner of the club, with the blunt torched | |
You're soft, they say he rhyme like he starving | |
And sold odds and bob kins, to old gods and goblins | |
Valley, adjust a pest and your worst best friend | |
Who mending with space time fabric like polyester blend | |
Not a hobby for no body, lead less from men | |
Or sloppy like the rest of them, they probably need estrogen [RZA] | |
Yo, yo, drunk or sober, son, don't lose your composure | |
Semi off the | |
Remy, mixed with | |
Henny, Moet demi' | |
Underneath the passenger seat, son, tuck the semi' | |
Israeli issued, automatic black pistol | |
The cop with the flashlight, chew gum as he whistle | |
Tapped on the glass, roll it down fast | |
License, registration, addressed to your lab | |
They made insurance, the reason why | |
I pulled you over | |
Cuz the way you were swerving, sir, you can't be sober | |
Have you been drinking? | |
Breathe into the breathalyzer | |
Get out the car, please, follow this exerciser | |
Put one finger on your nose, now from heel to toe | |
Walk in a straight line, ten paces, down the road | |
My homeboy | |
Kano, used to do the mashed potato | |
On cartwheels, and then spin house like whirled tornado | |
That used to chase the light, but, son, he will always save ya | |
Becoming pump blows, and make beats inside my basement | |
Drunk or sober, never lose your composure | |
Stress on the brain, cause pain and stomach ulcers | |
If you can't understand, then come closer | |
We civilize the uncivilized cuz we supposed to | |
Drunk or sober, never lose your composure | |
Might give your hand, black man stand as a soldier | |
Stress on the brain, cause pain and stomach ulcers | |
If you can't understand, then come closer... |
zuò qǔ : Diggs, Dumile | |
RZA Tempted by the sins of life, the pleasures of lust | |
With wild imaginings that you can' t discuss | |
Oh, the flesh is weak, it' s a struggle for feast | |
It' s a daily conflict between man and beast | |
We, strive for | |
God, and a better tomorrow | |
Still suffering, from the unforgettable sorrow | |
Repent from thy sins, son, and walk these straight | |
Stop talking all that trash, boy, and spark these straight | |
Evicted by the pressures of life, at every vital point | |
Still, I wouldn' t give an oint' | |
Or, flinch an inch, or pitch a pinch | |
Off the pie, or every try to try your winch | |
Confronted by the devil himself, and stay strong | |
You think you can take the | |
King, now meet | |
Kong Strong as the base of a mountain, there' s no counting | |
How many M | |
C' s, have sprung from our fountain | |
Fifty thousand year process, to make this combination | |
I' m not, giving mine away to | |
Satan Although, | |
I know that he' s awaiting | |
To get ahold of my biochemical equation | |
I' mma slip him son, | |
I' mma dip him, son | |
When I catch the drop on him, | |
I' mma clip him, son | |
Fifty thousand year process, to make this combination | |
Ninety nine elements, biochemical manifestation | |
I' m not giving mines away to | |
Satan Although, | |
I know that he' s awaiting | |
I' mma slip him son, | |
I' mma dip him, son | |
When I catch the drop on him, | |
I' mma clip him, son MF Doom | |
Bet oc', straight to the head with the pet rock | |
At least til | |
I can get from out this booth, it' s like a sweat box | |
Trained a few bars of head nodding, throw us a stack | |
Pants militant sawed up like linen, bobbing bonus pack | |
Invest in the first bboy kid show, life on skid row, with jive talking negro' s | |
He wear his beard like a frizzly haired grizzly | |
And kept his appearances exquisitely rare, where is he? | |
Is he in the backyard, or on your front porch | |
Or standing in the corner of the club, with the blunt torched | |
You' re soft, they say he rhyme like he starving | |
And sold odds and bob kins, to old gods and goblins | |
Valley, adjust a pest and your worst best friend | |
Who mending with space time fabric like polyester blend | |
Not a hobby for no body, lead less from men | |
Or sloppy like the rest of them, they probably need estrogen RZA | |
Yo, yo, drunk or sober, son, don' t lose your composure | |
Semi off the | |
Remy, mixed with | |
Henny, Moet demi' | |
Underneath the passenger seat, son, tuck the semi' | |
Israeli issued, automatic black pistol | |
The cop with the flashlight, chew gum as he whistle | |
Tapped on the glass, roll it down fast | |
License, registration, addressed to your lab | |
They made insurance, the reason why | |
I pulled you over | |
Cuz the way you were swerving, sir, you can' t be sober | |
Have you been drinking? | |
Breathe into the breathalyzer | |
Get out the car, please, follow this exerciser | |
Put one finger on your nose, now from heel to toe | |
Walk in a straight line, ten paces, down the road | |
My homeboy | |
Kano, used to do the mashed potato | |
On cartwheels, and then spin house like whirled tornado | |
That used to chase the light, but, son, he will always save ya | |
Becoming pump blows, and make beats inside my basement | |
Drunk or sober, never lose your composure | |
Stress on the brain, cause pain and stomach ulcers | |
If you can' t understand, then come closer | |
We civilize the uncivilized cuz we supposed to | |
Drunk or sober, never lose your composure | |
Might give your hand, black man stand as a soldier | |
Stress on the brain, cause pain and stomach ulcers | |
If you can' t understand, then come closer... |