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Lyrics for Bring the Pain by Man Method:



Artist:Man Method
No album artwork found
Album:Tical
Track:Bring the Pain
 
Date Added:18/10/2007
Views:83
 
Lyrics:Basically 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 can 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 fish accept it
In your Cross Colour clothes
you've crossed over
Then got Totally Krossed Out and 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 comin for the head piece protect it
Fuck
it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus
Bustin at me bruh, 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

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 summary
And 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 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 sickin
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
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 aiy, 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 a
chemical blow to pull a hoe
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay da mo'

What,
basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four style
Word up we be hazardous *car crashing* *horn
passing me*
Northern spicy brown mustard hoes
We have to stick you
*horn
sound of car racing by*

Chorus

Outro:

I'll fuckin,
I'll fuckin cut your kneecaps off
and make you kneel in some staircase piss


I'll fuckin, cut your eyelids off
and feed you nuthin but sleepin pills

You
motherfuckers
(So???) So fuck the hoe
Fuck the hoe

(Look at this
nigga, this motherfuckin
 
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