Cleaner's Kid [ft. Lyricks]
from Art of Starch by J.Han
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lyrics
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.
J. Han:
I know about the long hours and the time they would put-in.
12 was a minimum; the meager pay was killing ‘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]
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]
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, killing stains,
mixing solvents; solving problems with my mother as a team.
She was the smarts, plus impressive with the seams.
[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.
J. Han:
I know about the long hours and the time they would put-in.
12 was a minimum; the meager pay was killing ‘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]
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]
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, killing stains,
mixing solvents; solving problems with my mother as a team.
She was the smarts, plus impressive with the seams.
[Hook]
credits
from Art of Starch,
released March 3, 2013
Produced by Urban Romantic City
Produced by Urban Romantic City
license
all rights reserved
tags
about
Good Fruit Co.
Our passion is to engage culture to nourish souls and renew lives for Christ through
music.
This hope is rooted in the Gospel message that, "God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, shall not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)
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discography
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Sep 2017
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