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Song

Lyrics by: Method Man, RZA
# Debut Chart
45 Nov '94 Hot 100

Lyrics

Basically, can't fuck with me 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


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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) 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] [repeat CHORUS] 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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