Is this—
Is this where regular people shop?

I can smell the poor when I walk right in,
Aisle five misery, bargain bin sins.
Credit cards crying, wallets on life support,
I strut past the savings like it’s a sport.

I can smell the poor, it’s everywhere,
Clearance rack dreams in recycled air.
You call this shopping, I call it war—
Sorry, sweetie… I can smell the poor.


Click-clack heels on a budget tile floor,
Fluorescent lights never loved me before.
Cart wheels squeak, I wince in disgust,
Someone’s counting coupons like it’s sacred trust.

Lip gloss costs more than your rent this week,
Silk on my skin, I don’t sweat, I critique.
You say “excuse me,” I already knew—
That voice got debt written all over you.

I don’t mean to stare, it’s just… wow,
That smell of struggle hits me now.
Is it polyester? Fear? Or pride?
Whatever it is, babe, it’s not my vibe.

I can smell the poor when I walk right in,
Aisle five misery, bargain bin sins.
Credit cards crying, wallets on life support,
I strut past the savings like it’s a sport.

I can smell the poor, it’s everywhere,
Clearance rack dreams in recycled air.
You call this shopping, I call it war—
Sorry, sweetie… I can smell the poor.

Cart full of basics, survival chic,
I buy the aisle just to feel unique.
You’re price-checking cereal, I’m bored,
My dog eats better than this entire store.

Designer shades indoors, of course,
Eye contact feels like a legal force.
You whisper “must be nice,” I smile thin—
It is when you’re born to always win.

Your sneakers talk before you do,
They scream “payday loan” in off-brand blue.
I breathe through silk, hold my head high,
If money talks, mine tells yours goodbye.

I can smell the poor when I walk right in,
Discount despair clinging to your skin.
Self-checkout shame, receipts too long,
I don’t wait in lines—I don’t wait long.

I can smell the poor, it’s tragic, really,
Dreams marked down, hopes priced silly.
You call me rude, I call it lore—
Relax, babe… I can smell the poor.

No offense.
Okay, maybe a little.
I just don’t understand…
Why don’t you just—
Have more money?

I can smell the poor, it follows me home,
Like secondhand stress, like a sad little loan.
I leave in a limo, you leave with a chore,
Same automatic doors—different world.

I can smell the poor, but don’t feel bad,
Someone’s gotta lose so I can be glad.
Lipstick perfect, empathy poor—
Wave goodbye… I can smell the poor.

Do you validate parking…
Or is that just for people like me?