Bring the PainMethod Man

[Intro: Method Man]
Basically...
Can't fuck with me

[Verse 1: Method Man]
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
Methods, I'm not the King
But niggas 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 Colour clothes, you've crossed over
Then got Totally Krossed Out and 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, Man from the Wu-Tang Clan
I be hectic, and comin' for the head piece, protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggas want the ruckus
Bustin' at me, bruh, now bust it
Styles, I gets buckwild
Method Man on some shit, pullin' niggas files
I'm sick, insane, crazy, driving Miss Daisy (yeah)
Out her fucking mind, now I got mine, I'm Swayze (yeah)

[Hook: Method Man]
Is it real, son, is it really real, son? (yeah)
Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real (what, yeah)
Something I could feel, son, load it up and kill one (what, uhh)
Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real—yeah—, uh

[Interlude: Booster & Method Man]
When I was a likle stereo (Stereo)
I listen to some Cham-pi-on (Champion)
I always wonda (wondered)
When I will be di numba one (Ticaaal! hahaha)
And now yuh listen to di Gorgon (Gorgon)
And a Gorgon sound a Rein
An' any jump and come tes' mi (test me)
Mi a-go lick out dem brain (it’s like that)

[Verse 2: Method Man]
Brothers want to hang with the Meth, bring the rope
The only way you'll hang is by the neck, Nigga Bolt
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 stickin' niggas for they garments
Movin' on your left, southpaw, Mr. 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, ayy, give it to me raw
I've learned when you drink Absolut straight it burns
Enough to give my chest hairs a perm
I don't need no chemical blow to pull a ho
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay da mo'

[Break: Method Man]
What, basically that, Meth-Tical, '94 style [crash]
Word up, we be hazardous
Northern spicy brown mustard hoes
We have to stick you (horn)

[Hook: Method Man]
Is it real, son, is it really real, son? (motherfucker)
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

[Outro: Method Man]
I'll fuckin', I'll fuckin' cut your kneecaps off
And make you kneel at some staircase, piss
I'll fuckin' cut your eyelids off
And feed you nuthin' but sleepin' pills [laugh]
Get yours, motherfucker
So—So fuck the ho, fuck the ho
Look at this nigga, this motherfucker, shit