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