Well I got a new kinda square dance rap
Gon' talk smack, flash my gat
I'm finna spit and hold my dick
And heat shit up like a thermostat
Grab your partner by the chaps
Give your partner a pimp-slap
To symbolize the ghetto trap
Step to the right, give three claps
Kids jam-packed in tenement shacks
Ain't shit cooking on the stove but crack
This is the bat this hell beget
'Cause bosses are kleptomaniacs

Two by two Promenade
Duck from a B1 bomber raid
Ain't 'bout the plans Osama made
Banks getting paid off petrol trade
Circle eight, do-si-do
How much cash could a o-z grow?
'Til all are fed and all have beds
My skin is black, my star is red

FBI coming round the outside
Which one of us finna die tonight?
Is we finna fight over crumbs to bite
Or make a whole motherfucking world ignite?
Everybody throw them blows
Right upside your partner's nose
By now you've got bloody clothes
Crabs in the barrel so the story goes
Think of all their savage acts
Grab 'n scratch from average cats
Bureaucrats with strings attached
Walk in place, light the match

Two by two Promenade
Duck from a B1 bomber raid
Ain't 'bout the plans Osama made
Banks getting paid off petrol trade
Circle eight, do-si-do
How much cash could a o-z grow?
'Til all are fed and all have beds
My skin is black, my star is red

Everybody get down low 'bout the level of your toes
These dance moves we usually do are not the ones that we have chose
Grab on to that beat and grind, try your best to stay alive
We can't run, we can't hide, might as well just stay and fight

Two by two Promenade
Duck from a B1 bomber raid
Ain't 'bout the plans Osama made
Banks getting paid off petrol trade
Circle eight, do-si-do
How much cash could a o-z grow?
'Til all are fed and all have beds
My skin is black, my star is red

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Wixen Music Publishing
Writer(s): Boots Riley, Tom Morello