biochemical equations

(grandpapi smokin' the reefer)


(just kidding: it's grandpapi's breathing exercis'r)

writing zone + mia= explanation for me being M.I.A.

i've been in this re writing zone lately. i'm happy that it's come back around...but i'm sure others aren't too happy with me- as when i get into these 'zones' i tend to 'ignore' everyone else. nothing personal though; it's just easier for me to keep up with the flow without disrupting the creative energy that's found me. am i weird and particular? ummm, slightly.

and the song that's helping me get through this round of re writes:
rza and mf doom's biochemical equations.
this song is HARD. i love it. so, download it NOW or buy it. i wish i knew how to post the actual song on this thing. ahh well, ya'll get some of the lyrics which is the next best thing:

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 MC'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
==
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...
-rza/mf doom.