| Tempted by the sins of life, the pleasures of lust
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| With wild imaginings that you can’t discuss
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| Oh, the flesh is weak, it’s a struggle for peace
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| It’s a daily conflict between man and beast
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| We strive for God and a better tomorrow
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| Still suffering from the unforgettable sorrow
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| Repent from thy sins, son and walk ye straight
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| Stop talking all that trash boy and talk ye straight
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| Afflicted by the pressures of life at every vital point
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| Still, I wouldn’t give an oint'
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| Or flinch an inch or pitch a pinch
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| Off the pie or every try to try your wench
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| Confronted by the devil himself and stay strong
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| You think you can take the King now meet Kong
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| Strong as the base of a mountain, there’s no counting
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| How many MCs have sprung from our fountain
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| Fifty thousand year process to make this combination
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| I’m not giving mine away to Satan
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| Although I know that he’s awaiting
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| To get a hold of my biochemical equation
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| I’ma slip him son, I’ma dip him, son
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| When I catch the drop on him, I’ma clip him, son
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| Fifty thousand year process, to make this combination
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| 99 elements, biochemical manifestation
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| I’m not giving mines away to Satan
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| Although, I know that he’s awaiting
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| I’ma slip him son, I’ma dip him, son
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| When I catch the drop on him, I’ma clip him, son
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| Bet ahk, straight to the head with the pet rock
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| At least til I can get from out this booth, it’s like a sweat box
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| Trade a few bars of head nodding, throw us a stack
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| Pay him and it’s sewed up like thread and bobbin bonus pack
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| Invest in the first B-boy kid show
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| Live off skid row with jive talking negros
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| He wear his beard like a frizzly haired grizzly
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| And kept his appearances exquisitely rare, where is he?
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| Is he in the backyard or on your front porch
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| Or standing in the corner of the club with the blunt torched
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| You’re soft, they say he rhyme like he starving
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| And sold odds and bodkins to old gods and goblins
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| Golly, I’m just a pest and your worst best friend
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| Who mend and rip space-time fabric like polyester blend
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| Not a hobby for no knobby-kneed lesser men
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| Or sloppy like the rest of them, they probably need estrogen
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| Yo, yo, drunk or sober, son, don’t lose your composure
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| Semi off the Remy, mixed with Henny, Moet demi'
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| Underneath the passenger seat, son, tuck the semi'
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| Israeli issued automatic black pistol
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| The cop with the flashlight chew gum as he whistle
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| Tapped on the glass, roll it down fast
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| License, registration addressed to your lab
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| They made insurance, the reason why I pulled you over
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| Cuz the way you were swerving, sir, you can’t be sober
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| Have you been drinking? |
| Breathe into the breathalyzer
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| Get out the car, please, follow this exercise, sir
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| Put one finger on your nose, now from heel to toe
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| Walk in a straight line, ten paces, down the road
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| My homeboy Kano, used to do the mashed potato
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| Or cartwheels and then spin out like a tornado
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| They used to chase him, right; |
| but son, he would always shake em
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| Then come and puff bowls and make beats inside my basement
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| Drunk or sober, never lose your composure
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| Stress on the brain cause pain and stomach ulcers
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| If you can’t understand, then come closer
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| We civilized the uncivilized like we supposed to
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| Drunk or sober, never lose your composure
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| Mic in your hand, black man stand as a soldier
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| Stress on the brain, cause pain and stomach ulcers
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| If you can’t understand, then come closer |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Biochemical Equation , by - Wu-Tang Clan. Song from the album Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп