Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bring Da Pain, artist - Method Man. Date of issue: 07.05.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Bring Da 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 da 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 (yeah) |
| Out her fucking mind, now I got mine, I’m Swayze (yeah) |
| Is it real, son, is it really real, son? |
| (yeah) |
| Let me know it’s real, son, if it’s really real (what, yeah) |
| Something I could feel, son, load it up and kill one (what, uhh) |
| Want it raw deal, son, if it’s really real—yeah—, uh |
| When I was a likle stereo (Stereo) |
| I listen to some Cham-pi-on (Champion) |
| I always wonda (wondered) |
| When I will be di numba one (Ticaaal! hahaha) |
| 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 want to 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 when you drink Absolut straight it burns |
| Enough to give my chest hairs a perm |
| I don’t need no chemical blow to pull a ho |
| All I need is Chemical Bank to pay da mo' |
| What, basically that, Meth-Tical, '94 style |
| Word up, we be hazardous |
| Northern spicy brown mustard hoes |
| We have to stick you (horn) |
| Is it real, son, is it really real, son? |
| (motherfucker) |
| 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 nuthin' but sleepin' pills |
| Get yours, motherfucker |
| So—So fuck the ho, fuck the ho |
| Look at this nigga, this motherfucker, shit |