Quit crying ‘bout money like it’s God’s cruel test,

Grandma built hers with grit, nails, and nothin’ left.

You want a house?

Start by quitting Door Dash, slick.

Now listen close… I hope this will stick. Lets go!

Grandpa swung a hammer, not a damn vape pen,

Paid cash for a Chevy, built a fence with his kin.

You? Double work shifts hustling, laying flat on your back,

Cause Starbucks got you strung out on pumpkin spice crack.

Nine-dollar coffee, selfie with the foam,

Grandma’s brew could strip paint off of chrome.

She poured it black, one cup for the pain,

That mud could fuel tractors and cure migraines.

No brunch dates, no “vibes,” no filter fame,

She fed six mouths on biscuits and shame.

Wake up! Smell the broke you made, king!

Got a four-bed palace and don’t own a thing!

Two SUVs, one Insta, fake crew,

Grandpa’s ink read “Korea ’52.”

One TV, static and a prayer,

Now you need five screens just to feel aware.

Wake up! Koon It ain’t inflation, son,

It’s your damn dreadlocks and your Amazon runs!

Forty-seven subs, emotional debt,

Therapy cats and a nicotine net.

Ordering porn while your lights get cut,

Talking about your neighbors like anyone gives a fuck.

Grandma patched jeans, made stew from cans,

You dropped 10 grand just to have a van.

We had reruns, duct tape, pride,

Now you need “inner peace” just to stay inside.

You want change? Try less Wi-Fi lies,

They built empires quiet, no hashtags, no cries.

Wake up! Smell the broke you made, king!

Got a four-bed palace and don’t own a thing!

Two SUVs, one Insta, fake crew,

Grandpa’s ink read “Korea ’52.”

One TV, static and a prayer,

Now you need five screens just to feel aware.

Wake up! Koon It ain’t inflation, son,

It’s your damn dreadlocks and your Amazon runs!

Grandma had grit, Grandpa had scars…

You got Wi-Fi tears and electric cars.

Ain’t nothin’ wrong with dreaming high,

But maybe start by learning what means to live by.