"Bring The Pain (New Wave Version)" lyrics
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
Deeper than your fists
And brothers is mad, pissed
Accept it
In your cross color
Clothes you crossed over
Now ya totally crossed out
And Kriss kross
Who da boss?
Niggas get tossed to da 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 that headpiece
Protect it
Fuck it
Two tears in a bucket
Niggas want the ruckus?
So, bust it at me, son
Now bust it
Styles
I get buck wild, Method man
On some shit, fuckin' niggas
Be 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?
Is it really real, son?
Lemme know it's real, son
If it's really real
Something I can feel son
Load it up and kill one
Wonderin' the deal, son
If it's really real
When I was a little stereo (stereo)
I used to be the champion (mmm)
I always wonder (wonder)
When I will be the number one (ooh)
And now you listen to de Gargon (Gargon)
And the Gargon summary
And all you niggas come to test me (test me)
I'm gonna lick out your brains
Mothers wanna hang with the meth
Bring the rope
'Cause the only way you hang is by the neck
Nigga, bump 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
Nigga, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm on shit
And it's gonna get even worse
Word to God, it's the Wu
Comin' through, takin' niggas 'fore they're gone
Movin' to your left (Mr. Meth!)
I came to represent
And carve my name in 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
9 3 11 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' ninety proof vodka
No OJ
No straw
When you give it to me, yeah
Give it to me raw
'Cause I burn
When you drink absolute 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 the bits
Is it real, son?
Is it really real, son?
Lemme know it's real, son
If it's really real
Something I can feel son
Load it up and kill one
Wonderin' the deal, son
If it's really real
Fuck the hoes [x12]
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
Deeper than your fists
And brothers is mad, pissed
Accept it
In your cross color
Clothes you crossed over
Now ya totally crossed out
And Kriss kross
Who da boss?
Niggas get tossed to da 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 that headpiece
Protect it
Fuck it
Two tears in a bucket
Niggas want the ruckus?
So, bust it at me, son
Now bust it
Styles
I get buck wild, Method man
On some shit, fuckin' niggas
Be 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?
Is it really real, son?
Lemme know it's real, son
If it's really real
Something I can feel son
Load it up and kill one
Wonderin' the deal, son
If it's really real
When I was a little stereo (stereo)
I used to be the champion (mmm)
I always wonder (wonder)
When I will be the number one (ooh)
And now you listen to de Gargon (Gargon)
And the Gargon summary
And all you niggas come to test me (test me)
I'm gonna lick out your brains
Mothers wanna hang with the meth
Bring the rope
'Cause the only way you hang is by the neck
Nigga, bump 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
Nigga, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm on shit
And it's gonna get even worse
Word to God, it's the Wu
Comin' through, takin' niggas 'fore they're gone
Movin' to your left (Mr. Meth!)
I came to represent
And carve my name in 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
9 3 11 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' ninety proof vodka
No OJ
No straw
When you give it to me, yeah
Give it to me raw
'Cause I burn
When you drink absolute 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 the bits
Is it real, son?
Is it really real, son?
Lemme know it's real, son
If it's really real
Something I can feel son
Load it up and kill one
Wonderin' the deal, son
If it's really real
Fuck the hoes [x12]
Writer(s): Robert F. Diggs, Clifford Smith
