[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)

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

Serving the Americans