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j. han - cleaner's kid كلمات الأغنية

[hook]
homie this’ the life of a cleaners kid
living mediocre with a family biz
we gotta stay grinding; say goodbye to weekends
cause you’re helping at the shop — no retreating
homie this’ the life of a cleaners kid
forget about sabbaticals or family trips
we gotta stay grinding; say goodbye to weekends
cause you’re helping at the shop — no retreating

[verse 1: j. han]
i know about the long hours and the time they would put-in
12 was a minimum; the meager pay was k!lling ‘em;
neighborhood wasn’t feeling ‘em; arthritis was creeping-in;
blue collar work wasn’t really a thrilling gig
but they kept at it, barely stayed static
with a resolve to get nice with the pragmatics
so they tussled, working every muscle
to know the ins and outs of this dry cleaning hustle
lugging buckets and carts, whether tiny or large
of dirty clothes from 30 year olds yapping and dropping them off
they dealt with the worst of ‘em, but still had a smile-on
up-charging for silk when their blouse was really nylon
i was told to never burn your bridges; hold your tongue
when they shun you for your slanted eyes, slandering your yellow kind
they felt it everyday while doing business in the ghetto
telling the young james to observe and take a memo

[hook]

[verse 2: lyricks]
ain’t no summer like a dry cleaning summer
mama stays skinny and she never was a runner
to me the strongest lady maybe, the woman’s crazy
i mean it could 180 degrees because of steam
but never did she break down
always had a great smile
pray aloud singing hymns
god fearing / innocent
she’s the example of a hard working immigrant
came across abroad w my pops to make her dividends
and now here it is. me and my mom
sweating while setting the sweaters on mechanical lines
we cleaned skirts, shirts, bras, down to the underwear
lunch time mom would have the kimchi in the tupperware
best lunch ever, wash our hands then go back to work
she be on the presser, i go back to my bagging shirts
when customers came, “cleaner’s kid” is what they labeled us
grew up with the twisty-ties, reloading my staplers

[hook]

[verse 3: j. han]
i know how it feels to see your parents laughed at
tripping over their words while folks supplied laugh tracks
wanting to defend ‘em against their spewing venom
but realized that kindness was truly the greatest weapon
i saw strength in their meekness, valor in their mannerisms
were they in the deep end — their worth being cheapened?
i witnessed countless amounts — bitter accounts —
of people muttering aspersions under their mouths
did they miss out on living the real dream — american built?
did they mistake silt for gold? was it a gilt
painted on a bunch rocks? oh my gosh, what a mockery it made
of these immigrants that stayed
paving legacies of pain with perseverance — never faint
my father was a master with the iron, k!lling stains
mixing solvents; solving problems with my mother as a team
she was the smarts, plus impressive with the seams

[hook]

- j han

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