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 niggaz 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 da boss? Niggaz get tossed to da 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   Niggaz want the ruckus?      So bust it at me, son, now bust it   Styles, I get buck wild   Method man on some shit   Fuckin' niggaz, 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   And now you listen to me, Dacron Dacron      And all you niggaz come and test me? Test me   I'm gonna lick out your brains   Mothers wanna hang with the meth, bring the rope   'Cos the only way you hang is by the neck, nigga, bump 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' niggaz '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 funky rhymes galore   Check it, 'cos I think not when it's hip hop like proper rhymes   Be the proof when I'm drinkin' ninety proof vodka      No OJ, 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 hair      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