[Intro — spoken, close] Rent due Monday. Payday Friday. Funny how the calendar always knows my name. Lights still burning. Stomach still turning. Same old city, same old game. [Verse 1 — staccato rap] Mama said, “Stand tall.” Even when the cupboard shows nothing at all. Bus at six, shift at seven, work all day for a piece of heaven. Coins in a jar, bills in a stack, one step forward, two steps back. Shoes worn thin, but I walk that mile, empty little pocket, still I wear my smile. They say, “Work hard.” I say, “I do.” Two damn jobs and the rent comes through. Food costs more, wage stays small, tell me who gets rich when the poor ones fall? [Pre-Chorus — sung softly] I got no gold inside my hand, but I got roots inside this land. You can bend my back, you can test my soul, but being broke don't make me whole. [Chorus — gospel-inflected] Put bread on the table, hope in the room. Keep one little flower alive in the gloom. We cry, we rise, we carry the weight. Still wake up early, still come home late. Put bread on the table, love in the chair. If tomorrow comes empty, we'll still meet it there. No crown, no throne, no money to show... but nobody owns the soul that I know. [Instrumental] [Verse 2 — chopped rap] Landlord calling. Phone keeps buzzing. Baby needs shoes, and the fridge needs something. Gas meter blinking, winter coming fast, every little dollar already in the past. I know the faces waiting in line, counting every nickel, counting every dime. Old man laughing with holes in his coat, says, “Girl, keep singing, that's how we float.” So I sing low, then I speak plain: poverty ain't noble, poverty is pain. Don't make a saint from an empty plate, don't call it patience when a child must wait. But don't call me broken. Don't call me weak. I've got ten thousand stories every time I speak. [Dialogue — spoken] “How much you got?” “Enough for tonight.” “And tomorrow?” ... “Tomorrow, we fight.” [Break — sparse piano] [Gospel voice — sustained] Lord, keep my heart from getting cold. Keep my hands from letting go. I don't need diamonds. I need time. I need peace. I need what's mine. [Distant Response] Hold on. Hold on. [Verse 3 — rhythmic spoken/sung] We measure life in receipts and rent, in hours worked and money spent. But I know love that never had a price, warm food shared when there wasn't enough twice. I know hands that carried the weak, women too tired to even speak. Men coming home with nothing but pride, kids making kingdoms on the poor side. So don't tell me what a rich life means. I've seen holy things in broken machines. I've seen Sunday clothes on a Monday train, I've seen people dance through hunger and rain. [Final Chorus — stronger, still restrained] Put bread on the table, hope in the room. Keep one little flower alive in the gloom. We cry, we rise, we carry the weight. Still wake up early, still come home late. Put bread on the table, love in the chair. If tomorrow comes empty, we'll still meet it there. No crown, no throne, no money to show... but nobody owns... nobody owns... the soul that I know. [Outro — spoken] Rent due Monday. Payday Friday. Still breathing. Still here. Still mine.
