Biochemical Equation

[Verse 1: 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 peace
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 ye straight
Stop talkin' all that trash, boy, and talk ye straight
Afflicted 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 wench
Confronted by the devil himself and stayed strong
You think you can take the king, now meet Kong
Strong as the base of a mountain, there's no countin'
How many MCs have sprung from our fountain
Fifty-thou' a year process to make this combination
I'm not givin' mine away to Satan
Although I know that he's a-waitin'
To get a hold 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-thou' a year process to make this combination
99 elements, biochemical manifestation
I'm not giving mines away to Satan
Although, I know that he's awaitin'
I'mma slip him, son, I'mma dip him, son
When I catch the drop on him, I'mma clip him, son

[Intrumental bridge]

[Verse 2: MF DOOM + RZA]
Bet, ahk—straight to the head with the pet rock
At least till I can get from out this booth, it's like a sweatbox
Trade a few bars of head-noddin'—throw us a stack
Pay him and it's sewed up like thread and bobbin' bonus pack
Invest in the first B-boy kid's show
Live off skid row with jive-talking negros
He wear his beard like a frizzly-haired grizzly and kept his appearances exquisitely rare, where is he? Is he in your backyard, or on your front porch? Or standing in the corner
Of the club with the blunt, torched? It's off
They say he rhyme like he starvin', and sold odds and bodkins
To old gods and goblins—golly, I'm just a pest
And your worst best friend, who mend and rip space-time fabric
Like polyester blend—not a hobby for no knobby-kneed
Lesser men, or sloppy like the rest of them
They prob'ly need estrogen (Yo—yo)

[Verse 3: RZA]
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—address to your lab
They made insurance, "The reason why I pulled you over?
'Cause the way you were swervin', sir—you can't be sober
Have you been drinkin'? Breathe into the breathalyzer
Get out the car, please, follow this exercise, sir
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
Or cartwheels, and then spin out like a tornado
They used to chase him, right; but, son, he would always shake 'em!
Then come and puff bowls 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 civilized the uncivilized that we supposed to
Drunk or sober, never lose your composure
Mic in 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