Lirik Lagu Bring The Pain - Method Man
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Basically can't fuck with me
Verse One:
I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brainLet's go inside my astral planeFind out my mental's based on instrumentalrecords hey so I can write monumentalMethods I'm not the KingBut niggaz is decaf I stick em for the CREAMcheck it just how deep can shit getDeep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept itIn your Cross Colour clothes you've crossed overThen got Totally Krossed Out and Kris KrossWho da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the sideAnd I'm the dark side of the ForceOf course it's the Method, Man from the Wu-Tang ClanI be hectic, and comin for the head piece protect itFuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckusBustin at me bruh, now bust itStyles, I gets buckwildMethod Man on some shit, pullin niggaz filesI'm sick, insane, crazy, Drivin Miss DaisyOut her fuckin mind now I got mine I'm Swayze
Chorus:
Is it real son, is it really real sonLet me know it's real son, if it's really realSomething I could feel son, load it up and kill oneWant it raw deal son, if it's really real
Interlude: Booster
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 summaryAnd any man dat come test me (test me)Me gwanna lick out dem brains (it's like that)
Verse Two:
Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the ropethe only way you hang is by the neck nigga pokeoff the set comin to your projectsTake it as a threat, better yet it's a promiseComin from a vet on some old Vietnam shitNigga you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb shitAnd it's gonna get even worse word to GodIt's the Wu comin through sickin niggaz for they garmentsMovin on your left, southpaw em it's the MethCame to represent and carve my name in your chestYou can come test realize you're no contestSon I'm the gun that won that old Wild WestQuick on the draw with my hands on the fournine three eleven with the rugged rhymes galoreCheck it cause I think not when this hip-hops like properRhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin 90 proofHuh vodka, no OJ, no strawWhen you give it to me aiy, give it to me rawI've learned when you drink Absolut straight it burnsEnough to give my chest hairs a permI don't need a chemical blow to pull a hoeAll I need is Chemical Bank to pay da mo'
What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four styleWord up we be hazardous *car crashing* *horn passing me*Northern spicy brown mustard hoesWe have to stick you*horn sound of car racing by*
Chorus
Outro:
I'll fuckin, I'll fuckin cut your kneecaps offand make you kneel in some staircase piss
I'll fuckin, cut your eyelids offand feed you nuthin but sleepin pills
You motherfuckers(So???) So fuck the hoeFuck the hoe
(Look at this nigga, this motherfuckin...)
Verse One:
I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brainLet's go inside my astral planeFind out my mental's based on instrumentalrecords hey so I can write monumentalMethods I'm not the KingBut niggaz is decaf I stick em for the CREAMcheck it just how deep can shit getDeep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept itIn your Cross Colour clothes you've crossed overThen got Totally Krossed Out and Kris KrossWho da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the sideAnd I'm the dark side of the ForceOf course it's the Method, Man from the Wu-Tang ClanI be hectic, and comin for the head piece protect itFuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckusBustin at me bruh, now bust itStyles, I gets buckwildMethod Man on some shit, pullin niggaz filesI'm sick, insane, crazy, Drivin Miss DaisyOut her fuckin mind now I got mine I'm Swayze
Chorus:
Is it real son, is it really real sonLet me know it's real son, if it's really realSomething I could feel son, load it up and kill oneWant it raw deal son, if it's really real
Interlude: Booster
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 summaryAnd any man dat come test me (test me)Me gwanna lick out dem brains (it's like that)
Verse Two:
Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the ropethe only way you hang is by the neck nigga pokeoff the set comin to your projectsTake it as a threat, better yet it's a promiseComin from a vet on some old Vietnam shitNigga you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb shitAnd it's gonna get even worse word to GodIt's the Wu comin through sickin niggaz for they garmentsMovin on your left, southpaw em it's the MethCame to represent and carve my name in your chestYou can come test realize you're no contestSon I'm the gun that won that old Wild WestQuick on the draw with my hands on the fournine three eleven with the rugged rhymes galoreCheck it cause I think not when this hip-hops like properRhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin 90 proofHuh vodka, no OJ, no strawWhen you give it to me aiy, give it to me rawI've learned when you drink Absolut straight it burnsEnough to give my chest hairs a permI don't need a chemical blow to pull a hoeAll I need is Chemical Bank to pay da mo'
What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four styleWord up we be hazardous *car crashing* *horn passing me*Northern spicy brown mustard hoesWe have to stick you*horn sound of car racing by*
Chorus
Outro:
I'll fuckin, I'll fuckin cut your kneecaps offand make you kneel in some staircase piss
I'll fuckin, cut your eyelids offand feed you nuthin but sleepin pills
You motherfuckers(So???) So fuck the hoeFuck the hoe
(Look at this nigga, this motherfuckin...)
