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 color, 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 brush, now bust it      Styles, I gets buck wild   Method Man on some shit, pullin' niggaz files   I'm sick, insane, crazy, drivin' Miss Daisy   Out her fuckin' mind now I got Martin 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      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 absolute 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      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      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 fuck the hoe   (So)   Fuck the hoe