[INTRO]
Preacher said beware false gods,
But he ain’t talkin’ ‘bout suits from squads.
They come preachin’ order, packin’ steel,
But my scripture’s buried in the k**l.
Claymore set with a trigger hymn,
Say amen, now you missin’ limbs.
Wrong Hollow don’t need no choir—
We pray through mud and strike through fire.
[VERSE 1]
They sent a fed down in a shiny vest,
Talkin’ sweet, like the rest confess.
Offered gold, offered clean new names,
Told ‘em Burlap runnin’ dirty games.
But these roots deep and b***d run thick,
One wrong word, that click go click.
We baptize rats in kerosene,
Hymns sound like M16s.
[chorus]
This that Claymore Gospel, wired in stone,
Hollow speak truth through copper and bone.
Tryna save souls? You outta your depth—
We don’t repent, we promise death.
Claymore Gospel, trench coat choir,
Preach through traps and roadside fire.
No pews here, just pine and wrath—
Step wrong once, you clear your path.
[VERSE 2]
One badge fell, another crawled in,
Tryna trace steps where my kin been.
Had a Bible in the dash, cross on his neck,
But I saw the wire taped under the deck.
Heard him whisper on the coms too slow,
Took two steps back and the pines let go.
Ain’t no pulpit out here, no grace—
Just bootprints wiped and a missing case.
[chorus]
This that Claymore Gospel, wired in stone,
Hollow speak truth through copper and bone.
Tryna save souls? You outta your depth—
We don’t repent, we promise death.
Claymore Gospel, trench coat choir,
Preach through traps and roadside fire.
No pews here, just pine and wrath—
Step wrong once, you clear your path.
[VERSE 3]
I ain’t no prophet, I ain’t no priest,
But I know when devils ride from the east.
One came smilin’, dressed like kin,
But his boots too clean, breath too thin.
I laid that gospel in the moss so thick,
One false step and the sermon hit.
Now his truck sittin’ empty on County Ten—
Hollow took his soul, won’t give it again.
[chorus]
This that Claymore Gospel, wired in stone,
Hollow speak truth through copper and bone.
Tryna save souls? You outta your depth—
We don’t repent, we promise death.
Claymore Gospel, trench coat choir,
Preach through traps and roadside fire.
No pews here, just pine and wrath—
Step wrong once, you clear your path.
[OUTRO]
Ash cross drawn in the dirt out back,
With a tooth in the middle and a lawman’s hat.
We don’t preach peace, don’t sing soft—
We send ‘em home with limbs chopped off.
[OUTRO]
Claymore Gospel, chapter closed,
Every verse got a body that the pinecone knows.
Don’t bring prayers if you bringin’ w*r—
This Hollow’s church got a wired floor
