…

The moss hangs like witches hair from the big oak trees
And from across the swamp there comes riding on the breeze
The sound, the sound, Bi-Yo rhythm, Bi-Yo rhythm

The rooster is born a fighter
Wears those surgeon blades on his legs
Hot blood, cold eyes
Headed for an early grave
He moves, he moves with the sound
And he'll fight until they lay him in the ground
Bi-Yo rhythm, Bi-Yo rhythm

…

The gator rides low in the water
But his eyes see everything
He watches the cities moving closer
Turning his home into a four lane
He moves, he moves with the sound
He waits until it all comes down
Bi-Yo rhythm, Bi-Yo rhythm

…

Bi-Yo rhythm

Bi-Yo rhythm

…

Bi-Yo rhythm

Bi-Yo rhythm

…