Sunday Shoes

Intro

Grandma said, “Boy, don’t wear them church shoes outside.”

I did anyway.

Now I’m grown, still tryna clean ‘em.

Verse 1

Mama kept the cereal in the popcorn tin

Bills in the Bible, hope tucked under them

Window unit rattled like it knew our names

June bugs died slow in the porch light flame

Cousin had a Charger with a busted left mirror

Said, “You either get rich or disappear here”

I was fifteen, notebook full of bad psalms

Tryna turn bus rides into a way beyond

Past the corner store with the loose-leaf smell

Past the dice game laughter and the broke motel

Past old men arguing Jordan or Kobe

Past the mural of a kid that the city don’t know, see—

That’s the thing, where I’m from, grief got a nickname

Everybody pour a little out, then it rain same day

Everybody tough ‘til the coroner zip that bag

Then the whole block whisper like the asphalt sad

Hook

Sunday shoes in the mud

Still tryna walk like I’m chosen

Still got dirt on the cuff

Still got prayers half-broken

Sunday shoes in the mud

Smile clean, but the soul look bruised

I learned how to thank God with a full heart

And still sing blues

Verse 2

Fast forward, now I’m backstage with a label rep

He said, “Pain sells better if you say it less”

I said, “Funny, where I’m from, silence cost more”

He laughed like he ain’t never seen a kicked-in door

Now I’m split in two like a tax refund

One side say “heal,” one side say “act up”

One side wanna build for the kids on the block

Other side still jealous when another man pop

I seen fake woke turn to corporate gold

Seen real ones fold when the rent got cold

Seen a pastor buy rims while the pantry dry

Seen a straight-A girl lose hope in her eyes

And I’m not above it, nah, let’s keep it clear

I done weaponized wounds just to make ‘em hear

I done called it “truth” when it tasted like pride

I done let applause be the place I hide

Bridge – voice shift / inner dialogue

Voice 1

You owe the people everything.

Voice 2

I gave ‘em blood already.

Voice 1

That ain’t enough if you still ain’t honest.

Voice 2

Honest cost too heavy.

Voice 1

Then why you still ask God for peace?

Voice 2

Because I’m tired of performin’ grief.

Verse 3

My little nephew asked if I was famous for real

I told him, “Only if the fridge at your house stay filled”

He ain’t laugh, just nodded like he understood

Kids know more ‘bout survival than they probably should

I got aunties with medicine split in half

Got uncles who joke so they don’t collapse

Got homeboys who still won’t cry in public

So they punch walls, punch clocks, punch luck till it’s nothin’

And me? I still iron guilt into every success

Still hear old sirens in expensive silence

Still bow my head before I walk onstage

Like, “Please don’t let my ego eat what the boyhood made”

If heaven got a porch with a working screen door

Tell the lost ones I ain’t forget what we mourn

Tell ‘em I still write with the dust on my tongue

Still one foot in the