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 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  
 Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept it  
 In your Cross Colour  clothes you've crossed over  
 Then got Totally Krossed Out and Kris Kross  
 Who da boss? Niggaz 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 comin for the head piece protect it  
 Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus  
 Bustin at me bruh, now bust it  
 Styles, I gets buckwild  
 Method Man on some shit, pullin niggaz files  
 I'm sick, insane, crazy, Drivin Miss Daisy  
 Out her fuckin 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  
  
 And when I was a lil stereo (stereo)  
 I listened to some champion (champion)  
 I always wondered (wondered)  
 Will now I be the numba one? (Tical! hahaha)  
 Now you listen to de gargon (Gargon!)  
 And de gargon summary  
 And any man dat come test me (test me)  
 Me gwanna lick out dem brains (it's like that)  
  
 Verse Two:  
  
 Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the rope  
 the only way you hang is by the neck nigga 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 shit  
 Nigga you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb shit  
 And it's gonna get even worse word to God  
 It's the Wu comin through sickin niggaz 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 this hip-hops like proper  
 Rhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin 90 proof  
 Huh vodka, no OJ, no straw  
 When you give it to me aiy, give it to me raw  
 I've learned 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 da mo'  
  
 What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four style  
 Word up we be hazardous *car crashing* *horn passing me*  
 Northern spicy brown mustard hoes  
 We have to stick you  
 *horn sound of car racing by*  
  
 Chorus  
  
 Outro:  
  
 I'll fuckin, I'll fuckin cut your kneecaps off  
 and make you kneel in some staircase piss  
  
 I'll fuckin, cut your eyelids off  
 and feed you nuthin but sleepin pills  
  
 You motherfuckers  
 (So???) So fuck the hoe  
 Fuck the hoe  
  
 (Look at this nigga, this motherfuckin