I came to bring the pain, hardcore from the brain
Let's go inside my astral plane
Find out my mental based on [bad word] records
Hey, so I could write monumental methods
I'm not the king but niggas is decaf, I stick 'em for the cream

Check it, just how deep can [bad word] get?
Deeper than your fist and brothers is mad [bad word]  accept it
In your Cross Colour clothes, you crossed over
Now you're totally crossed out like Kris Kross

Who the 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'll be hectic [bad word]  for the head piece, protect it
 [bad word] it, two tears in a bucket, niggas want [bad word] So bustin' at me, son, now bust it
Styles, I get buck wild, Method Man on some [bad word] [bad word]  [bad word] s foul, son, I'm sick, insane, crazy
Drivin' Miss Daisy out her [bad word]  mind
Now I got mine, I'm Swayze

Is it real, son? Is it really real, son?
Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real
Somethin' I could feel, son, load it up and kill one
Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real

When I was a little stereo, I used to be the champion
I always wondered when I will be the number one
And now you listen to the gargon and the gargon summary
And all you [bad word] to test me, I'm gonna lick out your brain

Mothers wanna hang with the Meth, bring the rope
'Cause the only way you hang is by the neck, [bad word]  bump off a [bad word]  through all your projects
Take it as a threat or better yet, it is a [bad word]  like a vet on some old Vietnam [bad word] [bad word]  you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm more [bad word] 
And it's gonna get even worse, word to god
It's the [bad word]  through, takin' niggas for their garments
Movin' on your left, it's the Meth
I came to represent and carve my name in your chest
You [bad word]  test, realize it's 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 [bad word] rhymes galore
Check it 'cause I think not when it's hip-hop like proper
Rhymes be the proof when I'm drinkin' 90 proof Vodka

No O.J., no straw
When you give it to me, yeah, give it to me raw
'Cause I've learned that 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 hoe
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay the [bad word] 
Is it real, son? Is it really real, son?
Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real
Somethin' I could feel, son, load it up and kill one
Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real
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