He was Bionic—part human, part machine—Sub Pop Bionic.  A dancer from the streets and alleys of Brooklyn,  Living for the rhythm, lost in the music’s pulse.  One fateful night, he hit the road too fast,  Flipped his car twice, thrown free, his legs torn away.  Paramedics arrived, expecting only tragedy,  But instead, they saw an opportunity—  A chance to push science beyond its limits.  The government had plans, a secret experiment,  Merging metal and flesh to create something new.  They gathered his remains and rushed him away—  To rebuild, to transform, and in the end, he became—    Sub Pop Bionic—he was Bionic, human robotic, Sub Pop Bionic.    For twelve long hours, the surgeons worked tirelessly.  When they were done, six million dollars had been spent.  Titanium limbs, hydraulic power coursing through him,  Computer chips now guiding his thoughts and his will.  As he healed, he saw what had become of him—  A creation of the system, no longer just a man.  But he refused to be their pawn, their engineered puppet.  Breaking free, he returned to the only home he knew.  He tried to hide his legs, ashamed of what he had become.  But then he remembered the fire that once drove him,  And with new resolve, he chose his fate—  From that day on, he would reclaim his name.    Sub Pop Bionic—he was Bionic, human robotic, Sub Pop Bionic.    Back to the dance floor, the only place he truly belonged.  Dressed sharp, stepping in, the bassline pulsed beneath his feet.  The crowd moved, lost in the groove, the rhythm electric.  He took his place, ready to unleash his soul through movement.  Lights flashed, reflecting off his gleaming limbs,  Whispers turned to laughter as people pointed, doubting him.  Embarrassed, he turned to leave, ready to disappear.  But then—something happened.    A beat dropped, deep and raw, triggering something inside.  His circuits surged, his power ignited,  And suddenly, he was moving—faster, sharper, unstoppable.  Breaking like no one had ever seen before.  The crowd gasped, then roared, drawn into the spectacle.  In that moment, he was no longer an outcast—he was a legend.  That night, his name was sealed in history—  The Bionic Slam was born.    Sub Pop Bionic—he was Bionic, human robotic, Sub Pop Bionic.    Bionic Slam!    DJs, turn up the beat—dancers, hit the floor.  Breakers spin, rappers rhyme, feel the rhythm take control.  Boxers swing, but you'll miss—ladies, blow a kiss.  Clear the floor, gather ‘round, move your body to this sound.  Lock your shoulders, tighten up, show your robotic might.  Circle round the freak that grooves, strip down and show your moves.  If you're feeling it, let it out—twist and turn, there’s no doubt.  The night belongs to those who dare—  So dance like you’ve never danced before.