Lemme tell ya 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 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, get deeper then your fists
And brothers is mad pissed, accept it
In your cross colored clothes you crossed over
Now you're totally crossed out and Kriss Kross
Who da boss, niggaz get tossed to da side
And I'm the dark side I am the force of course

It's the Method Man from the Wu Tang Clan
I be hectic and comin' for that head piece protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket
Niggaz want the ruckus? Yo bust it at me son, now bust it
Stylez I get buckwild 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 its really
Real son, lemme know it's real
Load it up and kill one
Load it up and kill one
Load it up and kill one
If it's really real

When I was a little stereo
I used to be the champion
I always wonder
When I will be the number one hey, hey, hey
And now you listen to me Darcon, Darcon
And all you niggaz come and test me, test me
I'm gonna lick out your brains
Brothers want to hang with the meth bring a rope
'Cause 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
And 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

Move'n to your left
I came to represent and 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 'cause 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 hairs

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 its really
Real son, lemme know it's
1, 2, 3, 4
Kill one
Fuck it up and kill one
Fuck it up and kill one
Lemme know it's real.

Writer : CLIFFORD SMITH, ROBERT DIGGS
Copyright : Lyrics © UNIVERSAL MUSIC-CAREERS