This is a rap song.

This is a dedicated dedication
a literal and lyrical assassination
a criminal's declaration
my critical examination

You asked me what was missing I realized its my voice
You gave me two doors to pick from I realized it's no choice

You wanted us to hope for change, I hoped for a bang, whitehouse black smoke and flames
won't vote for a name, politicians the same, federal incorporated this fucking country's a shame
you think it's a game?
They're playing people like poker chips in a hat with some shades
Shouting out “all in” bluffing full out now there's 8,000 corpses in shade
Lobbyists lounging, podium pounding, 8 million bucks to senator in trade
They're running around like beheaded chickens, and this is the only time I'll thank charles dickens
Because darkness is cheap, and these Scrooges are liking it

So let's lock and load the guns and then we'll show them our fun
This pen's still a sword that'll make them want to run
I'm talking revolution show them that we're still number one
We're more than just some
demographic tenants with some beer-goggle lenses
green smoke renters with some high high costs and
pill popping people with some low low hopes

This broken body that's surrounding me can still perform a crude lobatomy
9 millimeter tweeter and a 50 caliber speaker to blow the brains out of
those who chose to try and control we
Supposedly you're watching my back, but I'm watching your front and
I highly suggest that you get off of me with those sparkling promises, no armistice, this is all out war

Bombs drop buildings civis caught dumb luck no
this is fate its too late for repentence these tenants should of known better
like letter head of lead addressed to any motherfucker in way
because it's war, all out, automatics are okay when they're no choke full throttled on a baby on a bottle if it's working for they
And what do we do?
Bumper sticker picket protest, catchy slogans, bring them home
But their hollow points beat hollow words and their batons beat hollow domes
Hallowed grounds running red with our own empty voices

This is where the unions fought, and this is where the music stopped,
and this where the canary dropped
a couple of trivial bars like shit on cars