[Intro – My Voice, cocky spoken delivery, 150 BPM, American English, distorted guitar stab, upright piano hit] Okay, France... That was actually pretty good. Unfortunately... you made one mistake. You replied. [Hook – huge gang chant, crunchy guitars, punchy drums, staccato strings] DANE-GEROUS FIRE! Nobody duck! France wants smoke? Good fucking luck. Wine glass up, nose in the air... you brought Frenchy Fire? We came prepared. DANE-GEROUS FIRE! Don't act surprised. You brought a baguette... to a roast fight. [Verse 1 – fast spoken-rap, sharp stop-start delivery] FRANCE! You walked in like: “Children... please.” Bro... you brought a string quartet to an argument. We get it. You're classy. You drink wine. You know cheese. You pronounce one menu item... and suddenly everybody else needs a philosophy degree. You called us toddlers? Fine. But France... you've been holding the same baguette... judging everybody... for three hundred years. And that tiny coffee? Excuse me? Where's the rest? I ordered caffeine... not a sample. One sip. Cup empty. Seven -- euros. And somehow... I'M the uncultured one? [Pre-Hook – dry spoken, piano stabs] France... relax. Nobody is taking your cheese. Put the knife down. [Hook] DANE-GEROUS FIRE! Nobody duck! France came swinging... Denmark showed up. Wine glass up, nose in the air... You wanted smoke? Now choke on it. [Verse 2 – bouncy sarcastic rap] Paris. Beautiful city. Absolutely stunning. Until you stop for two seconds... and a scooter appears from nowhere. You built cafés for sitting six hours... doing absolutely nothing... then called it “culture.” Denmark does the same thing... but adds candles. That's efficiency. You judge our language? Fair. We sound like we swallowed a potato. But French? Come on. Half your letters show up for work... then refuse to be pronounced. You write twelve letters... say four... and somehow WE'RE the problem? [Native French pronunciation] Bonjour. Croissant. Bordeaux. [American English] Why does every word need lip choreography? [Verse 3 – faster build] And the food... yes. Very good. Calm down. You invented sauce? Congratulations. Denmark put food on bread... and somehow civilization continued. You say: “Never put cheese in a spray can.” Honestly? Fair. America... France got you there. But France... you put butter on butter... add cream... call it a light lunch... then serve it on a plate the size of a satellite dish... with one carrot. One leaf. One artistic dot of sauce. Forty-five euros. [American English] I'm still hungry. [Bridge – stop-start, increasingly smug] And the strikes... Oh, France. Train delayed? Strike. Garbage pickup? Strike. Retirement age moved five minutes? STRIKE. Someone suggested working late? REVOLUTION. Honestly... I respect the commitment. You don't complain. You mobilize. Half the country grabs a sign... the other half grabs wine... and somehow there's already a table outside. That's not a protest. That's a protest... with catering. [Final Verse – faster, hard punchlines] And this whole... “you are talking to the throne” thing? Okay... Your Majesty. Very impressive. But France... maybe don't brag too hard about thrones. Historically... that subject gets... a little... sharp. [beat stop] Too soon? ... No. You called us a daycare. Cute. But at least our tantrums don't shut down public transport. You gave us Frenchy Fire. Respect. Actually... great title. But now Denmark has one too. And ours comes with potatoes. [Final Hook – massive gang chant] DANE-GEROUS FIRE! Nobody duck! France came swinging... Denmark showed up. FRANCE! Lower the nose! PARIS! Where did my coffee go?! BAGUETTES! Honestly... pretty good. STRIKES! See you again next Tuesday! DANE-GEROUS FIRE! One mic. No throne. You called us children... now watch your tone. Your offended? ... Perfect. [Outro – dry spoken, ringing guitar + piano] France... we love you. Your food is incredible. Paris is beautiful. Your comeback was solid. Unfortunately... we're Danish. We don't know when to shut up. [Native French pronunciation] Au revoir. [American English] Denmark out.
