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Bring the Pain
作詞：Robert Jr Diggs, Clifford Smith
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 make 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, get deeper than your fists
An' brothers is mad, pissed, accept it
In your cross colors clothes, you crossed over
Now, ya totally crossed out an' Kriss Kross
Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to da side
An' I'm the dark side of the force, of course
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It's the Method Man from the Wu-Tang Clan
I be hectic an' comin' for that headpiece, protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket
Niggaz want the ruckus? So bust it at me, son, now bust it
Stylez, I get buck wild, Method Man on some shit
Fuckin' niggaz foul, son, I'm sick
Insane, crazy, drivin' 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 an' kill one, load it up an' kill one
Load it up an' kill one, if it's really real
When I was a little stereo, I used to be the champion
I always wonder when I would be the number one
An' now you listen to me, Darcon, Darcon
[Incomprehensible]
An' all you niggaz come an' test me
I'm gonna lick out your brains
Mothers wanna hang with the Meth, bring the rope
'Cuz the only way you hang is by the neck
Nigga, pump off a set, comin' through all your projects
Take it as a threat or better yet, it is a promise
Comin' like a vet on some old Vietnam shit
You can bet your bottom dollar that I'm on it
An' it'll get even worse, word to God, it's the Wu
Comin' through, takin' niggaz 'fore they're gone
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone
Movin' to your left
I came to represent an' 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
Lovin' all those goddamn funky rhymes galore
Check it 'cuz I think not, when it's hip hop like propa
Rhymes be the proof when I'm drinkin' ninety proof vodka
No O J, 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 no 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 1, 2, 3, 4
Kill one, fuck it up an' kill one
Fuck it up an' kill one, lemme know it's real
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