Thread Count

[Verse 1]
Frayed edges of morning, this silence still rings,
My hands on new patterns, the wealth that it brings.
These grains remember fractions, a ghost of old pain,
Now figures dance different, washed clean by the rain.

[Chorus]
Thread Count, on the old kitchen pine,
Every single dollar, a memory entwined.
Same table, different math, a path redefined,
For the silence of hustle, what I left behind.

[Verse 2]
Traffic hums a low gospel, just outside the pane,
While my hands sift the paper, erasing old stain.
Each crisp bill, a new fiber, re-stitching the cloth,
A silent defiance, against what we had lost.
Used to chase shadows, heard elders' tales spun,
Now my own tapestry brightens, beneath this cold sun.

[Chorus]
Thread Count, on the old kitchen pine,
Every single dollar, a memory entwined.
Same table, different math, a path redefined,
For the silence of hustle, what I left behind.

[Bridge]
The ghosts of expectations, they watch from the dark,
But my hands weave a freedom, leaving a vibrant mark.
Across generations, the silent strength spun,
This quiet revolution, until the dawn has begun.

[Chorus]
Thread Count, on the old kitchen pine,
Every single dollar, a memory entwined.
Same table, different math, a path redefined,
For the silence of hustle, what I left behind.

[Outro]
Frayed ends still whisper, but the pattern holds true,
Same table, new vision, under Atlanta's blue.