(he keeps talks to the class)
Basically ($#&@ you) can't $#&@ with me


[Verse One:]

I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain

Let's go inside my astral plane
Find out my mental's based on instrumental
records hey, so I could write monumental

Methods, I'm not the King
But ^!$$%z is decaf I stick em for the cream
check it, just how deep can %#@! get

Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad just accept it
In your Cross Colour, clothes you've crossed over
Then got totally crossed out like Kris Kross

Who da boss? ^!$$%z 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 coming for the head piece protect it
$#&@ it, two tears in a bucket, ^!$$%z want the ruckus
bustin at me punk now bust it

Styles, I gets buckwild
Method Man on some %#@!, pullin ^!$$%z files
I'm sick, insane crazy, Drivin Miss Daisy

out her $#&@in mind now I got mine I'm Swayze

[Chorus:]


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


[Interlude: Booster]

(The Booster!)

And when I was a lil stereo
I listened to some champion
I always wondered

Will now I be the numba one?
Now you listen to de gargon
And de gargon summary

And any man dat come test me
Me gwanna lick out dem brains


[Verse Two:]

Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the rope

the only way you hang is by the neck ^!$$% poke
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 %#@!
^!$$% you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb %#@!
And it's gonna get even worse word to God

It's the Wu comin through vickin ^!$$%z for they garments
Movin on your left, southpaw em it's the 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 it's hip-hop like proper
Rhymes be the proof when i'm drinkin 90 proof

Huh vodka, no OJ, no straw
When you give it to me yeah, 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 hoe
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay the mo


[Outro:]


Basically you're left with Meth-Tical
(Northern spicy brown mustard hoes) coming with Tical
and when you see it happen, you stick em


Puttin Def Jam's on my records, it's on
I'll $#&@in, slide you down a rusty razor-blade
into a pool of alcohol


(alright bring it back)
I'll $#&@in, I'll $#&@in, cut your kneecaps off
and make you kneel in some staircase piss

I'll $#&@in (that ^!$$% got his but cut)

cut your eyelids off (and served by the cube)
and feed you nothing but sleeping pills (like a cool Cuban
out this mother$#&@er... he got a half a joint, and one eyebrow)

(Yeah and Rae got a shell-toe)

You mother$#&@er
(One shell-toe Adidas on his feet)
(Sooooo????) So $#&@ the hoe
$#&@ the hoe
Look at this ^!$$%, this mother$#&@in, shoe-lookin

Baby spicy mustard, shoe-lookin