And de gargon summary
Check it, just how deep can shit get
We have to stick you
Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the rope
And feed you nuthin' but sleepin' pills
Want it raw deal son, if it's really real
Method Man on some shit, pullin' niggaz files
Want it raw deal son, if it's really real
You motherfuckers
I'll fuckin', I'll fuckin' cut your kneecaps off
Came to represent and carve my name in your chest
So fuck the hoe
All I need is chemical bank to pay da mo'
Northern spicy brown mustard hoes
And I'm the dark side of the force
Is it real son, is it really real son?
Take it as a threat, better yet it's a promise
Find out my mental's based on instrumental
Comin' from a vet on some old Vietnam shit
Let's go inside my astral plane
In your cross color, clothes you've crossed over
It's the Wu comin' through sickin' niggaz for they garments
And it's gonna get even worse word to God
I don't need a chemical blow to pull a hoe
Then got totally krossed out and Kris Kross
Enough to give my chest hairs a perm
I'm sick, insane, crazy, drivin' Miss Daisy
Now you listen to de gargon
And any man dat come test me
I be hectic and comin' for the head piece protect it
But niggaz is decaf I stick 'em for the cream
Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one
Bustin' at me brush, now bust it
You can come test realize you're no contest
Nigga you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb shit
And when I was a lil' stereo
Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept it
Check it 'cause I think not when this hip-hops like proper
Off the set comin' to your projects
And make you kneel in some staircase piss
What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four style
Let me know it's real son, if it's really real
Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one
Nine three eleven with the rugged rhymes galore
I always wondered
(Tical! Hahaha)
Is it real son, is it really real son?
I'll fuckin', cut your eyelids off
I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain
Word up we be hazardous car crashing, horn passing me
Styles, I gets buck wild
I've learned when you drink absolute straight it burns
Of course it's the Method Man from the Wu-Tang Clan
Out her fuckin' mind now I got Martin Swayze
(Wondered)
Huh vodka, no OJ, no straw, when you give it to me aiy, give it to me raw
(Gargon!)
(Stereo)
The only way you hang is by the neck nigga poke
Me gwanna lick out dem brains
Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the side
Movin' on your left, southpaw 'em it's the Meth
(Test me)
Quick on the draw with my hands on the four
I listened to some champion
Will now I be the numba one?
(So)
Son, I'm the gun that won that old Wild West
(It's like that)
Rhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin' 90 proof
Methods, I'm not the king
Records hey, so I can write monumental
Let me know it's real son, if it's really real
(Champion)
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus
