Bring the Pain lyrics

by

The Notorious B.I.G.


[Intro: Method Man]
Basically
Can't f*ck with me

[Verse 1: Method Man]
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 n*ggas is decaf, I stick 'em for the cream
Check it, just how deep can sh*t 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? n*ggas 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
f*ck it, two tears in a bucket
n*ggas want the ruckus
Bustin' at me, bruh, now bust it
Styles, I gets buckwild
Method Man on some sh*t, pullin' n*ggas files, I'm sick
Insane, crazy, driving Miss Daisy
Out her f*cking mind, now I got mine, I'm Swayze
[Chorus: Method Man]
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

[Interlude: Booster & Method Man]
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)

[Verse 2: Method Man]
Brothers wanna hang with the Meth, bring the rope
The only way you'll hang is by the neck
n*gga, 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 sh*t
n*gga, you can bet your bottom dollar, hey, I bomb sh*t
And it's gonna get even worse, word to God
It's the Wu comin' through, stickin' n*ggas 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
[Interlude: Method Man]
What, basically that, Meth-Tical, '94 style (Northern spicy brown mustard hoes, word up, we be hazardous)
We have to stick you

[Chorus: Method Man]
Is it real, son, is it really real, son? (Motherf*cker, I'll f*ckin')
Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real (Slide you down a rusty razor blade into a pool of alcohol)
Something I could feel, son, load it up and kill one
Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real

[Outro: Method Man]
I'll f*ckin', I'll f*ckin' cut your kneecaps off
And make you kneel at some staircase, p*ss
I'll f*ckin' cut your eyelids off and feed you nothin' but sleepin' pills
Get yours, motherf*cker
So f*ck the ho, f*ck the ho
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