Dead man stare trigga trance

Make a nigga do a bullet provokin two step dance

Not these hands, peep the metal plans

Walkin, not runnin, make you a runner from the blam

Ya can't can, if ya don't understand I'm not the one

But, I am the one, son

If ya wanna be the Dumb Trump

This a lifestyle, jumpin with the masks out

Staying wit the gloves and burners, now

Mothers and spouses are screaming

Cop lights are forever beaming

Concrete jungle bleeding

We soldiers, we natives, we fire

We never tire

Burnin rubber from the soles to the tires

Puppet soldiers playin wit wires

Make they eyes gaze higher

Scalp em, cuz "Fuck they lies"

Fuck em, yeah, fuck they lives

We focused and organized

We rationin out these lives

Blood in the clothes is fashion

This is our passion

We movin, marchin, and thrashin

Jurassic if we be trashin

Dark Ages if we be trappin

Stackin bricks, like building mansions

Lovin the candy, we Manson

Fixated upon the anthem:

"Dancing with Fire, we call that Passion."