Man Method Bring The Pain Alternative Mix Lyrics

Bring The Pain Alternative Mix Lyrics

he keeps talks to the class)  

 Basically (fuck you) can't fuck with me  

  

 Verse One:  

  

 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 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 just accept it  

 In your Cross Colour, clothes you've crossed over  

 Then got totally crossed out like 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 coming for the head piece protect it  

 Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus  

 bustin at me punk now bust it  

 Styles, I gets buckwild  

 Method Man on some shit, pullin niggaz files  

 I'm sick, insane crazy, Drivin Miss Daisy  

 out her fuckin mind now I got mine I'm Swayze  

  

 Chorus:  

  

 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  

  

 Interlude: Booster  

  

 (The Booster!)  

 And when I was a lil stereo  

 I listened to some champion  

 I always wondered  

 Will now I be the numba one?  

 Now you listen to de gargon  

 And de gargon summary  

 And any man dat come test me  

 Me gwanna lick out dem brains  

  

 Verse Two:  

  

 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 vickin 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 it's hip-hop like proper  

 Rhymes be the proof when i'm drinkin 90 proof  

 Huh 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 hoe  

 All I need is Chemical Bank to pay the mo  

  

 Outro:  

  

 Basically you're left with Meth-Tical  

 {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 (that nigga got his but cut)  

 cut your eyelids off (and served by the 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)  

 You motherfucker  

 (One shell-toe Adidas on his feet)  

 (Sooooo????) So fuck the hoe  

 Fuck the hoe  

 Look at this nigga, this motherfuckin, shoe-lookin  

 Baby spicy mustard, shoe-lookin