Biochemical Equation

RZARZA 

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RZA

Robert Fitzgerald Diggs (born July 5, 1969), better known by his stage name Rza ( /ˈrɪzə/ RIZ-ə; usually styled RZA), is an American Grammy-winning music producer, multi-instrumentalist, author, emcee, and occasional actor, director, and screenwriter. A prominent figure in hip hop, Rza is the de facto leader of the Wu-Tang Clan. He has produced almost all of Wu-Tang Clan's albums as well as many Wu-Tang solo and affiliate projects. He has also released solo albums under the alter-ego Bobby Digital, along with executive producing credits for side projects. In addition to the Wu-Tang Clan and his solo releases, Rza was also a founding member of the horrorcore Hip Hop group Gravediggaz where he used the name The Rzarector. Furthermore, he has acted in several mo… more »

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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

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)

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

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