In jungles deep where shadows creep, A team of warriors, bold and steep, Led by Dutch, with iron will, Face a foe beyond their skill.The Predator, with eyes of flame, A hunter from a starlit claim, Its cloaked form, a ghostly dread, Stalks the living, leaves the dead.With plasma blasts and razored claws, It carves through men without a pause. Yet Dutch, he stands, with grit and might, To face this beast in brutal fight."Get to the choppa!" Arnold cries, A desperate call as danger flies. The team, they scramble, hearts ablaze, Through tangled vines and misty haze.The hunter’s laugh, a chilling sound, Echoes where no hope is found. But Dutch, with cunning, sets his trap, To bring the creature to its nap.Mud and fire, a final stand, Man against beast, on blood-soaked land. The Predator falls, its reign is done, Dutch’s victory, hard-fought, won."Get to the choppa!" rings through time, A warrior’s shout, a battle’s rhyme. In jungle’s heart, where legends dwell, The Predator’s tale, we’ll always tell.