Lyrics On the Prowl - Mr. Hyde

On the Prowl

I’m dressed to kill with the Glock and 38 on my waist line
And merkin you to me will translate to a great time
The guns that I hold demand the money or motive
If I don’t get it then you better bet the gun’ll explode
They’re loaded aimin' your face son and tearin' shit up
Forget blastin your gut make sure your casket is shut
The black sheep of the bunch turning the weak into lunch
Yo I’m hungry for your flesh like I ain’t eaten in months
I’ll dig in with my ox and let it drag on your tan line
Put heads in the box and stab the handle with care signs
I’ll be in disguise ready to stick you with knives
And leave your arms crossed like Forrest Whitaker’s eyes
You sure you ready to die by this machette of mine?
It takes just one stride for your head to divide
Fuckin bludgeoned all night during my games of death
The cops’ll struggle to find where your remains are left
They’re underneath the weeds rotting in the breeze
Chillin with the flies, beetles, and the centipedes
A distant memory, your existence is gone
You’re on your way to the gates, where you’ll be visiting God
I’m on the prowl huntin for your head or your chest
Leavin you dead like the rest I got a fetish for death
I’m on the prowl son so you can run and evade
It’s all the same in the end you got a date with my blade (2x)
It be the Children of Corn style the killa with sword I’ll
Unleash a plague of bees about a billion a sworn pile
Desolate drug supply the strength of my hunt
But when I catch you you’re strung up hung by flesh of their tongues
Son, revenge is the script, you’ll be eventually ripped
Tossed in pendulum pits until you stench of the crypt
You’ll be hunted for days by thugs with guns and grenades
Fuckin punchin your face until you’re sunk in the grave
Blades are stuck in your brain, laced, and stuck in the lake
You should’ve ducked when I sprayed, son you’re a fuckin disgrace
Dirty lesions on your grill, pus excretions will be spilled
Gore adhesives will be filled with blood you leaked before you’re killed
My sinister inside drugged with hundreds of pills
It’s Two Minutes to Midnight, better run to the hills
I’m leavin you deceased, burning bullets get released
Earth is sure to hear you screech like guitars of Judas Priest
Next step you’re check mated, your vest is invaded
The hollow tip shells your chest is seperated
You’re caught up in a mess of tortured long death
On the deck, more or less, a corpse with torn flesh