Bring The Pain

(الألبوم: Tight - 1999)

(Lemme tell you now)
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
Method, I'm not the king
But niggas is decaf, I stick 'em full of CREAM
Check it, just how deep can shit get
Get deeper than your fists and brothers is mad, pissed, accept it
In your Cross Colour clothes, you've crossed over
Then got Totally Krossed Out, 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 (woo) from the Wu-Tang (woo)
I be hectic, and coming for the head piece, protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggas want the ruckus
Yo, bust it at me, son, now bust it
Styles, I get buck wild
Method (woo) on some shit, fucking niggas foul
So now I'm sick
Insane, crazy, driving Miss Daisy
How the fuck am I? Now I got mine, I'm Swayze

Is it real, son?
Lemme know it's real, son
If it's really real, son
Lemme know it's real
Load it up and kill one
Load it up and kill one
Load it up and kill one
If it's really real

When I was a little stereo
I used to be the champion
Oh oh oh
I always wondered
When I will be the number one
Hey hey hey
Now you listen to me, Darcon Darcon
And [?]
And all you niggas come and test me, test me
I'm gonna lick out your brains

Brothers want to hang with the Meth, bring the rope
Cause the only way you'll hang is by the neck
Nigga bump off the set
Coming through all your projects
Take it as a threat or better yet, it is a promise
Coming from a vet on some old Vietnam shit
You can bet your bottom dollar that I'm on it
And it's gonna get even worse, word to God
It's the Wu, coming through taking niggas 'fore they're
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone
Moving to your left
I came to represent and carve my name within your chest
You can come test, realize it's no contest, son
I'm the gun who won that old Wild West
Quick on the draw with my hands on the floor
Loving all those goddamn monkey rhymes galore
Check it, 'cause I think not when this hip-hopslike proper
Rhymes be the proof while I'm drinking 90 proof vodka
No OJ, no, no straw
When you give it to me, yeah, give it to me raw
I burn
Give it to me raw
I burn
Chest hair
I don't need no chemical blow to pull a ho, no
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay her up

Is it real, son?
Lemme know it's real, son
If it's really real, son
Lemme know it's
One, two, three, four

Kill one
Fuck it up and kill one
Fuck it up and kill one
Lemme know it's real