Method Man - Bring The Pain

Basically Can't fuck with me I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain Let's go inside my astral plane Find out my mental, based on instrumental Records, hey, so I can write monumental Methods, I'm not the king But niggas is decaf, I stick 'em for the cream Check it, just how deep can shit get Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad, fish accept it In your Cross Colour clothes, you've crossed over Then got Totally Krossed Out and Kris Krossed Who the boss? Niggas get tossed to the side And I'm the dark side of the Force Of course it's the Method, Man from the Wu-Tang Clan I be hectic, and comin' for the head piece, protect it Fuck it, two tears in a bucket Niggas want the ruckus Bustin' at me, bruh, now bust it Styles, I gets buckwild Method Man on some shit, pullin' niggas files, I'm sick Insane, crazy, driving Miss Daisy Out her fucking mind, now I got mine, I'm Swayze Is it real, son, is it really real, son? Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real Something I could feel, son, load it up and kill one Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real, yeah, uh When I was a likle stereo (stereo) I listen to some Champion (Champion) I always wondered (wondered) When I will be di number one (Tical) And now yuh listen to di Gorgon (Gorgon) And a Gorgon sound a Rein An' any jump and come tes' mi (test me) Mi a-go lick out dem brain (it's like that) Brothers wanna hang with the Meth, bring the rope The only way you'll hang is by the neck Nigga, bolt off the set, comin' to your projects Take it as a threat, better yet it's a promise Comin' from a vet on some old Vietnam shit Nigga, you can bet your bottom dollar, hey, I bomb shit And it's gonna get even worse, word to God It's the Wu comin' through, stickin' niggas for they garments Movin' on your left, southpaw, Mr. Meth Came to represent and carve my name in your chest You can come test, realize you're no contest Son, I'm the gun that won that old Wild West Quick on the draw with my hands on the four- Nine-three-eleven with the rugged rhymes galore Check it, 'cause I think not when this hip-hops like proper Rhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin' 90 proof Huh, vodka, no OJ, no straw When you give it to me, ayy, give it to me raw I've learned that when you drink Absolut straight it burns Enough to give my chest hairs a perm I don't need a chemical blow to pull a ho All I need is Chemical Bank to pay the roll What, basically that, Meth-Tical, '94 style (Northern spicy brown mustard hoes, word up, we be hazardous) We have to stick you Is it real, son, is it really real, son? (Motherfucker, I'll fuckin') Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real Something I could feel, son, load it up and kill one Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real I'll fuckin', I'll fuckin' cut your kneecaps off And make you kneel at some staircase, piss I'll fuckin' cut your eyelids off and feed you nothin' but sleepin' pills Get yours, motherfucker So fuck the ho, fuck the ho