Lyrics Bring Da Pain - Method Man
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′s
based
on
instrumental
Records
hey,
so
I
can
write
monumental
Methods,
I'm
not
the
king
But
niggaz
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
color,
clothes
you′ve
crossed
over
Then
got
totally
krossed
out
and
Kris
Kross
Who
da
boss?
Niggaz
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,
niggaz
want
the
ruckus
Bustin'
at
me
brush,
now
bust
it
Styles,
I
gets
buck
wild
Method
Man
on
some
shit,
pullin′
niggaz
files
I'm
sick,
insane,
crazy,
drivin′
Miss
Daisy
Out
her
fuckin'
mind
now
I
got
Martin
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
And
when
I
was
a
lil'
stereo
(Stereo)
I
listened
to
some
champion
(Champion)
I
always
wondered
(Wondered)
Will
now
I
be
the
numba
one?
(Tical!
Hahaha)
Now
you
listen
to
de
gargon
(Gargon!)
And
de
gargon
summary
And
any
man
dat
come
test
me
(Test
me)
Me
gwanna
lick
out
dem
brains
(It′s
like
that)
Brothers
want
to
hang
with
the
Meth
bring
the
rope
The
only
way
you
hang
is
by
the
neck
nigga
poke
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
sickin′
niggaz
for
they
garments
Movin′
on
your
left,
southpaw
'em
it′s
the
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
aiy,
give
it
to
me
raw
I've
learned
when
you
drink
absolute
straight
it
burns
Enough
to
give
my
chest
hairs
a
perm
I
don′t
need
a
chemical
blow
to
pull
a
hoe
All
I
need
is
chemical
bank
to
pay
da
mo′
What,
basically
that,
Meth-Tical,
ninety-four
style
Word
up
we
be
hazardous
car
crashing,
horn
passing
me
Northern
spicy
brown
mustard
hoes
We
have
to
stick
you
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
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
And
feed
you
nuthin′
but
sleepin'
pills
You
motherfuckers
So
fuck
the
hoe
(So)
Fuck
the
hoe
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