Biochemical Equation Lyrics
| Song | Biochemical Equation |
| Artist | Wu-Tang Clan |
| Album | Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture Instrumentals |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 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... |
| zuo qu : 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... |
| 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... |
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