[Mr. Hyde]
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 oh man the money I mold
If I don't get it then you better bet the gun'll explode
The gun is aimin it your face you beater tear that 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
Out to get with my axe and let it drag on your tan line
Put hands in the box and stab the handle with cat signs
I'll be in disguise ready to stick you with knives
And leave your arms gross like Forrest Whitekers eyes
Are you ready to die by this machette of mine?
It takes just one strive for your head to divide
Fuckin bludgeoned all night by my games of death
The cops'll struggle to find where your remains are left
They're underneath the weeds rotting in a gentle 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
[Chorus]
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)
[Mr. Hyde]
It be the Children of Corn style the killa with sword I'll
Unleash a plague of bees upon a billion a sworn pile
Desolate drug supply the strength of my hug
But when I catch you you're strung up by the flesh of their tongues
Start avengin the script you'll be eventually ripped
Tossed in pendulum pits until you stench of the crip
You'll be hunted for days by thug 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 legions on your grill plus excretions will be spilled
Gory missions will be filled must relieve before you're killed
My sinister inside drugged with hundreds of pills
It's a minister midnight better run to the hills
I'm leavin you diseased 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 separated
Your caught up in a mess of tortured long death
From the depth more or less a corpse with torn flesh
[Chorus]