Clyde

Paper machete, my pen and poetry is deadly

Decapitate your mind, you're scheduled for your beheading

Before he pulled a blick, I pulled a bic, wrote him out of existence

Him or me, live or die, big life decision prison sentence

On the run laying low, heard twelve was knocking at my door

Try to have some fun before I begin reaping what I sew

Money running low so I decide to hit a liquor store

I said I got gun, the place insured so what he reaching for

I swear that super hero instinct be some people weaknesses

Leave a trail of blood in my wake but there'd be no witnesses

Gasoline, matchbox, of course I had to blow the scene

Hot wheels, car swap, reload up on the magazine