On the Prowl

Lyrics

[Mr. Hyde] I'm dressed to kill with the Glock and 38 on my waist line And murkin' 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 aiming for your face, son, and tearing 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 machete 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 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 [Hook] 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 about a billion, a sworn pile The desolate drugs supply the strength for 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 brains, 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 checkmated, your vest is invaded By hollow tip shells, your chest is separated You're caught up in a mess of tortured long death On the deck, more or less, a corpse with torn flesh [Hook x2]