Mindless Self Indulgence - Bring The Pain (New Wave) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Mindless Self Indulgence
• Bring The Pain (New Wave)

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 could 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?
Deeper than your fist and brothers is mad pissed, accept it
In your Cross Colour clothes, you crossed over
Now you're totally crossed out like Kris Kross

Who the boss? Niggas 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'll be hectic and comin' for the head piece, protect it

Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggas want the ruckus
So bustin' at me, son, now bust it
Styles, I get buck wild, Method Man on some shit
Fuckin' nigga's 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? Is it really real, son?
Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real
Somethin' I could feel, son, load it up and kill one
Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real

When I was a little stereo, I used to be the champion
I always wondered when I will be the number one
And now you listen to the gargon and the gargon summary
And all you niggas come to test me, I'm gonna lick out your brain

Mothers 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' like a vet on some old Vietnam shit
Nigga, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm more shit

And it's gonna get even worse, word to god
It's the Wu comin' through, takin' niggas for their garments
Movin' on your left, it's the Meth
I came to represent and carve my name in your chest
You can come, test, realize it's 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 Vodka

No O.J., no straw
When you give it to me, yeah, give it to me raw
'Cause I've learned that when you drink Absolut straight
It burns enough to give my chest hairs a perm
I don't need no chemical blow to pull a hoe
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay the bitch

Is it real, son? Is it really real, son?
Let me know it's real, son, if it's really real
Somethin' I could feel, son, load it up and kill one
Want it raw deal, son, if it's really real

Fuck the hoes, fuck the hoes
Fuck the hoes, fuck the hoes
Fuck the hoes, fuck the hoes
Fuck the hoes, fuck the hoes
Fuck the hoes, fuck the hoes
Fuck the hoes, fuck the hoes

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