Basically, can't fuck 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 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...)