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    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 make 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 colors clothes you crossed over
    And 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 ruckas? So bust it at me, son, now bust it
    Stylez I get buckwild method man on some shit
    Fuck'n niggaz foul, son I'm sick

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    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 its really real sonlemme 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 would be the number one, hey, hey, hey
    And now you listen to me, darcon darcon

    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
    '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' 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 'cause I think not when it's hip hop like propa
    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 its really real, son
    Lemme know it's
    1, 2, 3, 4
    Kill one, fuck it up and kill one
    Fuck it up and kill one
    Lemme know it's real

    Song details

    Composition: Clifford Smith, Robert Diggs, and James Euringer

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