A Place at the Table
v4
@SyLvIa YaNnA (Yan)
A Place at the Table
v4
@SyLvIa YaNnA (Yan)
Text
[Verse 1]
Sunday morning in the kitchen, smell the coffee brew
Mama working double shifts just to pull us through
Pops on the couch, old work boots by the door
Says he’ll be back on his feet, like he said before
I learned to fold the laundry, learned to stretch a meal
Learned a quiet kind of love is still a thing you feel
The calendar was crowded, but she made a little room
For a joke across the table, for a flower in a jar bloom
[Chorus]
We had a little, but we held it like gold
Warm plates, old stories, hands to hold
When the week ran long and the rent came due
We kept a place at the table for me and you
[Verse 2]
School shoes pinched tight, but I ran all day
Mama left a note in my bag: “Make your own way”
Pops found a toolbox, fixed the gate out back
Then showed me how to turn a loose hinge back
No grand speech, just a ride when the bus ran late
A coat on my shoulders when the weather changed
Now I call on Sundays, let her tell me what she made
She says, “Bring your appetite,” and I’m halfway on the way
[Chorus]
We had a little, but we held it like gold
Warm plates, old stories, hands to hold
When the week ran long and the rent came due
We kept a place at the table for me and you
[Outro]
Coffee in the kitchen, Sunday rolling slow
Some things that you’re given are the things you grow
Sunday morning in the kitchen, smell the coffee brew
Mama working double shifts just to pull us through
Pops on the couch, old work boots by the door
Says he’ll be back on his feet, like he said before
I learned to fold the laundry, learned to stretch a meal
Learned a quiet kind of love is still a thing you feel
The calendar was crowded, but she made a little room
For a joke across the table, for a flower in a jar bloom
[Chorus]
We had a little, but we held it like gold
Warm plates, old stories, hands to hold
When the week ran long and the rent came due
We kept a place at the table for me and you
[Verse 2]
School shoes pinched tight, but I ran all day
Mama left a note in my bag: “Make your own way”
Pops found a toolbox, fixed the gate out back
Then showed me how to turn a loose hinge back
No grand speech, just a ride when the bus ran late
A coat on my shoulders when the weather changed
Now I call on Sundays, let her tell me what she made
She says, “Bring your appetite,” and I’m halfway on the way
[Chorus]
We had a little, but we held it like gold
Warm plates, old stories, hands to hold
When the week ran long and the rent came due
We kept a place at the table for me and you
[Outro]
Coffee in the kitchen, Sunday rolling slow
Some things that you’re given are the things you grow
Musikstyle
Chill soul-sample boom-bap, dusty chopped electric-piano and mellow gospel-soul chord fragments, laid-back head-nod kick and snare, rounded bass, restrained vinyl texture. Intimate conversational male rap with clear enunciation and natural pocket. Open with a brief sampled-key loop, bring in drums beneath the first verse, add subtle vocal doubles on key phrases, then lift the hook with fuller chords and backing harmonies; warm, close, lightly saturated mix with punchy drums and an unhurried groove.
