Testo Bring The Pain - Mindless Self Indulgence
Testo della canzone Bring The Pain (Mindless Self Indulgence), tratta dall'album Tighter
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 (uh)
Based on instrumental (oh)
Records (hey) so I can write monumental
Methods, I'm not the king, but niggas 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 you crossed over
Now ya totally crossed out (and kriss-krossed)
Who tha boss? Niggas get tossed to tha 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
Niggas want the ruckus? Yo, bust it at me son, now bust it
Styles, I get buck-wild, Method Man on some shit
Fuckin' niggas foul, son I'm sick
Insane crazy, drivin' Miss Daisy
Out her fuckin' mind, 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 (oh, oh, oh)
I always wondered (oh)
When I would be the number one (hey, hey, hey)
And now you listen to me, Darcon Darcon
And-
And all you niggas come and test me, test me
I'm gonna lick out your brains
Brothers wanna hang with the Meth, bring the rope
'Cause 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' from a vet on some old Vietnam shit
You can bet your bottom dollar that I'm on it (yeah)
And it'll get even worse, word to God
It's the Wu, comin' through takin' niggas '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 monkey rhymes galore
Check it, 'cause 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 its 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
Let me know it's real
Credits
Writer(s): Clifford Smith, Robert F. Diggs
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