Tekstovi: Mindless Self Indulgence. Tight. Bring The Pain.

Lemme tell you 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 niggas is decaf
I stick 'em for the cream, check it

Just how deep can shit get?
Get deeper than your fists
And brothers is mad pissed
Accept it

In your cross color, clothes are crossed over
Now ya totally crossed out and Kriss 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 be hectic and comin' for that headpiece, protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket
Niggas want the ruckus?

Yo bust it at me, son, now bust it
Styles, I get buck wild
Method Man, on some shit
Fuckin' nigga's 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 it's 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, now you listen to me, Dacron, Dacron

And all you niggas come and test me, test me
I'm gonna lick out your brains
Brothers wanna hang with the meth, bring the 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' niggas 'fore they're gone
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone

Movin' 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 monkey 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, 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 it's really real, son, lemme know it's one, two, three, four

Kill one
Fuck it up and kill one
Fuck it up and kill one
Lemme know it's real