Method Man – Bring The Pain

Download another hot old mp3 free audio song lyrics by Method Man and this amazing music is titled “Bring The Pain”.

Actually this amazing music is popped out of an old album which is titled ‘Tical’ and it was released in the year 1994.

Listen up below!.

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[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, 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

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 Krossed

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 the head piece, protect it

Fuck it, two tears in a bucket

Niggas want the ruckus

Bustin’ at me, bruh, now bust it

Styles, I gets buckwild

Method Man on some shit, pullin’ niggas files, I’m sick

Insane, crazy, driving Miss Daisy

Out her fucking 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

Something I could feel, son, load it up and kill one

Want it raw deal, son, if it’s really real, yeah, uh

When I was a likle stereo (stereo)

I listen to some Champion (Champion)

I always wondered (wondered)

When I will be di number one (Tical)

And now yuh listen to di Gorgon (Gorgon)

And a Gorgon sound a Rein

An’ any jump and come tes’ mi (test me)

Mi a-go lick out dem brain (it’s like that)

Brothers wanna hang with the Meth, bring the rope

The only way you’ll hang is by the neck

Nigga, bolt 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, stickin’ niggas for they garments

Movin’ on your left, southpaw, Mr. 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, ayy, give it to me raw

I’ve learned that 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 ho

All I need is Chemical Bank to pay the roll

What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ’94 style

(Northern spicy brown mustard hoes, word up, we be hazardous)

We have to stick you

Is it real, son, is it really real, son? (Motherfucker, I’ll fuckin’)

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

I’ll fuckin’, I’ll fuckin’ cut your kneecaps off

And make you kneel at some staircase, piss

I’ll fuckin’ cut your eyelids off and feed you nothin’ but sleepin’ pills

Get yours, motherfucker

So fuck the ho, fuck the ho