Pump - Bionic Jive

Are you ready for a brother with a mouth full of hand-grenades?

Watch a brothers tongue serenade

With the grace of a razor blade over butter

In the middle of a heat wave (peep ways)

Got a baby on every part of the city

'Cause I’m street made

Did you really want to clash with me?

Cause I’mma paint a picture sad to see

Like a brother from a rope in an apple tree

Did you really believe these abilities couldn’t achieve

Filling my pockets with the cheese and the broccoli?

(Watch you trippin' on)

Some of that shit that be killing off the ozone

Mention my clique Now she don’t want to put her clothes on

Better recognize who to idolize over tracks

Or catch a match to the batch

Of the kerosene for the pay back

'Cause the S.W.

never play that

Eliminate 'em till the moon fade black

(Never get sentimental) on an instrumental

When it’s complemental to the mental psycho

Alpha, disco, quick to split your riddle

From the max to the minimal

Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?

Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?

Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?

Pump, pump, pump, pump, yeah

Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?

Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?

Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?

Pump, pump, pump, pump

Terminal condition when the mic in position

To slit 'em from the solar plexus to the neck up

Giving them a hemorrhage with the double concussion

Propelling through my nemesis multiple combination in 3D

Images split a wig when a fool trip

Never mind what your sipping on, what you trippin' on?

Is it tricks or the rims on the Brougham

Or the way my city get it gritty in your time zone?

Monologue got your mind blown

Keep you ducking in the bushes when the infrared roam

Turn up the volume and watch a poetical prophecy properly

Rock the philosophy made for the rap game

I paid dues, slayed crews for the rap game

Drop flows, got chose for the rap game

I’m suicidal off the cliff ready to dive

(version 1)

What, what, what, come on

(version 2)

Into the depths of the pyramids where my jewels stay crisp

In the tomb with the gods in the form of a monsoon

Mind my mind, in a sand dune

Psycho, alphabetical, street ministry

Question (whatcha trippin' on?)

Was it the night we dragged your hommie through the night club

Made him fold up when he loc’d up

Droppin' heat seekers to his dome

Like a hot comb to his dome when he spoke up

All adversaries look away when the A to the K O M A C K

Get to rippin' through the cable with the wrath of stray a bullet

Bet your corner catch a ricochet

Propelling parallel with the light speed laid back

Like a knock kneed, eye to eye with the enemy

While the telepathy proceed to achieve

Blowing enemies to a realm in a calm breeze

(I shall) rip it till my lungs cease

(Proceed) spittin' game in the city streets

(And continue) rippin' heads off of robeast

Sincerely yours black mack with the khakis creased

Whatcha trippin' on?