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Lyrics
[Intro]
Late night, back room, gray file
Names on a list in a straight line tile
They thought the badge meant they safe in the end
’Til Granger put a finger on the right loose thread
[Verse 1]
He walk in quiet
Fluorescent hum, stale diet
Styrofoam cup by the old desk phone
Case file thick like a backbone
He said, "Look
These ain’t crooks, they the cook"
Serving up deals for a flag on the wall
Taking that money, then they making that call
Border town bar, back booth in the dark
Sheriff in a suit with a federal mark
Cash in a duffel by the old jukebox
Favors getting traded for a new wristwatch
[Chorus]
Granger tell the cops what they don’t wanna hear
“All your friends serving the Americans here”
Names, dates, every little move they made
He spill all the secrets that they thought was safe
Granger tell the cops, room turnin' cold
Every handshake lookin' like it’s bought, not sold
He said, “All of them saints in them custom pins?
They just doing dirty work, serving the Americans” (yeah)
[Verse 2]
He flip one page
Photo of a kid in a cage
Passport stamped, then the trail go blank
But the man in the picture wear the same gold chain
That the judge had on at the charity ball
Same little charm in the hospital hall
Same last name on a PAC in D.C.
Money go around like a slow whirlpool sea
He said, “Down south, port side, midnight load
Sheriff car leading that convoy road
DEA man at the weigh station grin
Wave ’em all through with a ‘how y’all been?’"
Cameras off-line for an hour on the dot
Meanwhile crates slide past real soft
Manifest say ‘farm tools, baby’
But the weight on the truck say something crazy (uh)
[Chorus]
Granger tell the cops what they don’t wanna hear
“All your friends serving the Americans here”
Names, dates, every little move they made
He spill all the secrets that they thought was safe
Granger tell the cops, room turnin' cold
Every handshake lookin' like it’s bought, not sold
He said, “All of them saints in them custom pins?
They just doing dirty work, serving the Americans” (woah)
[Bridge]
[Female bgv, airy, stacked]
Who you really work for?
(who you really?)
Who you really die for?
(die for what?)
Flag on the sleeve
But the calls overseas
All go back to the same locked door
[Verse 3]
He lean back, eyes on the one-way glass
Knowin' every word now carved in brass
Cop in the corner start tapping his shoe
’Cause his brother got a name in that folder too
Cargo on the coast in a church-run van
Borderline blurred by a preacher’s hand
Diplomat smile in a three-piece suit
Pullin’ kids off a list for a “better” route
He said, “You think you free? You ain’t
You just part of a picture they paint
Y’all just pieces on a board they spin
And the same damn players always gonna win"
Recorder light blink while they stare at the floor
Every good ol’ boy just linked to more
Granger sign off on the sworn detail
Then he walk out slow like he beat that jail
[Chorus]
Granger tell the cops what they don’t wanna hear
“All your friends serving the Americans here”
Names, dates, every little move they made
He spill all the secrets that they thought was safe
Granger tell the cops, room turnin' cold
Every handshake lookin' like it’s bought, not sold
He said, “All of them saints in them custom pins?
They just doing dirty work, serving the Americans” (yeah, yeah)
Details
GeneratedFeb 18, 2026
Duration3:39
LanguageEnglish
Style
rap, Dark West Coast / down-south hybrid: swung drums, heavy sub bass, eerie bell lead. Male vocals rapping with cold, narrative delivery; female background vocals on hooks with stacked, airy harmonies. Verses stay minimal and tense; chorus widens with layered ad-libs and reverbed ad-libs that echo key phrases. Occasional filtered drops before the hook for impact, crisp hats and sparse piano stabs for texture., deep
Credits
Prompt byLofiBanger163
ModelAria v5
Prompt
Granger tells the cops on the criminal acts of the people serving the Americans. West Coast, down south beat, female background vocals deep bass., rap
