Mindless Self Indulgence Bring the Pain Lyrics

Tight Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 Grab the Mic
  • 2 Bring the Pain
  • 3 Mindless Self Indulgence
  • 4 Tight
  • 5 Diabolical
  • 6 Molly
  • 7 Tornado
  • 8 Daddy
  • 9 Pussy All Night
  • 10 Apple Country
  • 11 Dickface
  • 12 Bite Your Rhymes
  • 13 Hail Satan! (live)
  • 14 Ecnegludni Fles Sseldnim / JX-47
  • 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 *****z is decaf
    I stick 'em for the cream, check it

    Just how deep can **** 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, *****z 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
    **** it, two tears in a bucket
    *****z want the ruckus? Yo bust it at me son, now bust it
    Stylez I get buckwild Method Man on some ****
    ****in' *****z foul son, I'm sick
    Insane crazy, Drivin' Miss Daisy

    How the **** 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 *****z 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

    ***** 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 ****
    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' *****z '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
    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
    **** it up and kill one
    **** it up and kill one
    Lemme know it's real.

    Written by: Carlton Ridenhour, Clifford Smith, Gary J. Rinaldo, James Henry Boxley Iii, Robert F. Diggs
    Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

    Artists A to Z: