Method Man
The Great White Hype soundtrack
Bring The Pain
[Method Man]
I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain
Let's go inside my astral plane
Find out my mental's based on instrumental
Records, hey, so I could write monumental
Methods, I'm not the king
But niggas is decaf I stick em for the CREAM
Check it, just how deep shit can get
Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad just accept it
In your Cross Colour clothes you crossed over
Then got totally crossed out on Kris Kross
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 your headpiece - 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, drivin Miss Daisy
Out her fuckin 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 ill son if it's really real
The Booster!
[Booster]
And when I was a lil stereo (stereo)
I listened to some champion (champion)
I always wondered (wondered)
When I will be da number one (Tical)
Now you listen to the gargon (gargon)
That nigga dancehall rip
And any mad that come test me (test me)
Me gonna lick out dem brains
[Method Man]
Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the rope
The only way you hang is by the neck nigga rope
Off the set, come into your projects
Take it as a threat, better yet it's a promise
Comin like 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 it's the Meth
Came to represent and carve my name in your chest
You can come test realizin there's no contest
Son I'm the gun that won the whole 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 it's hip-hop like proper
Rhymes be the proof when I'm drinkin 90 proof of vodka
No OJ no straw
When you give it to me yeah, 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 row
Basically you're left with Methical
(Northern spicy brown mustard hoes)
Coming with Tical and when you see it happen, you stick em
Puttin Def Jam's on my records, it's on
I'll fuckin, slide you down a rusty razor-blade into a pool of alcohol
(Alright bring it back)
I'll fuckin, I'll fuckin, cut your kneecaps off
And make you kneel in some staircase piss
I'll fuckin cut your eyelids off
(That nigga got his butt cut and served like a cube)
And feed you nothing but sleeping pills
(Like a cool Cuban out this motherfucker
He got a half a joint, and one eyebrow)
(Yeah and Rae got a shell-toe)
Typical motherfucker
(One shell-toe Adidas on his feet)
Sooooo fuck the hoe
Fuck the hoe
Look at this nigga, this motherfuckin, shoe-lookin
Baby spicy mustard, shoe-lookin
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