Grab The Mic Lyrics - Tight - Mindless Self Indulgence

Lemme tell you 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 than your fists 

And brothers is mad 

Pissed, accept it 

In your cross color, clothes are crossed over 

Now ya totally crossed out and Kriss kross 

Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to da 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 that headpiece, protect it 

Fuck it, two tears in a bucket 

Niggaz want the ruckus? 

So bust it at me, son, now bust it 

Styles, I get buck wild 

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 it's 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 

And now you listen to me, Dacron Dacron 

And all you niggaz come and test me? Test me 

I'm gonna lick out your brains 

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 

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 

Movin' 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 proper rhymes 

Be the proof when I'm drinkin' ninety proof vodka 

No OJ, 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 hair 

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 it's really real, son, lemme know it's one, two, three, four 

Kill one, fuck it up and kill one 

Fuck it up and kill one 

Lemme know it's real