Mindless Self Indulgence Lyrics - Tight - Mindless Self Indulgence

Lemme tell ya 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 write 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 then your fists 

And brothers is mad pissed, accept it 

In your cross colored clothes you crossed over 

Now you're totally crossed out and Kriss Kross 

Who da boss, niggaz get tossed to da side 

And I'm the dark side I am the force of course 

It's the Method Man from the Wu Tang Clan 

I be hectic and comin' for that head piece protect it 

Fuck it, two tears in a bucket 

Niggaz want the ruckus? Yo bust it at me son, now bust it 

Stylez I get buckwild Method Man on some shit 

Fuckin' niggaz foul son, I'm sick 

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 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 

I always wonder 

When I will 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 

Brothers want to hang with the meth bring a 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 

Move'n 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 o.j. 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 hairs 

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.