Intro
Kitchen table lit by one bulb, brown paper spread
Grandma's hand moved quick, wrote in symbols instead
Cops circled the block but they never cracked her code
Verse
She ran the numbers out the back room past the church
Wrote our hope in triangles, kept the columns clean
Three-digit dreams, a nickel bet could feed a week
Fed the deacon's rent when the offering ran weak
Every square meant somebody's Sunday shoes got paid
Every slash meant somebody's light bill got delayed
She kept the runes in a cigar box under the sink
Taught herself the shorthand faster than she could think
Cops came sniffing, she swallowed slips like aspirin
Said the law don't feed us, the numbers always listen
Widow on the corner drew a seven and eleven
Grandma paid it out in cash, called it a piece of heaven
She wasn't a criminal, she was the only bank we had
No teller wanted us, she wrote the good and bad
Thirty years of symbols, not one column ever bent
Buried in that ledger was the only covenant
Chorus
Runes buried in the ledger, kept the whole block alive
Every mark meant a promise that we'd somehow survive
Cops could seize the paper but the code stayed in her mind
Runes buried in the ledger, that's the truth we left behind
Verse
Now I keep my own book, different kind of code
Sixteen bars a page, still counting what I'm owed
Label tried to shortchange, said the contract read it clean
I read between the runes like grandma read the seams
Every hook's a policy, every verse a numbers run
Pay the streets in truth before the check ever come
Studio at midnight, cigar box turned hard drive
Still writing in a language that the vult