NO THANKS

Hook
State never helped us, man, we came with cold hands,
East block dreams, minimum wage, no stands.
Helped other people, no “thank you”, no glance—
all praise somewhere else, while we bled for our chance.

Verse 1
I came from the East with a pocket full’a nothing,
ten pounds, no plan, winter rain, stomach empty, coughing.
Mold on the walls, five dudes in the same room,
boss didn’t pay, rent late—welcome to the fuckin’ gloom.
While some got classes, housing, language for free,
I scraped coins just to learn A, B, fucking C.
State looked through me like a ghost in the doorway,
I was working sick shifts while hope ran the wrong way.

Hook
State never helped us, man, we came with cold hands,
East block dreams, minimum wage, no stands.
Helped other people, no “thank you”, no glance—
all praise somewhere else, while we bled for our chance.

Verse 2
They said “you’re economic, handle your own shit,”
but they took my taxes fast like some government hit.
I helped newcomers, gave food, gave time, gave spine,
but the gratitude flew up—never landed on mine.
This ain’t about religion, this about recognition,
I was drowning in debt while they got support provisions.
Calling home was luxury—minute cost like gold,
family far as the moon, while I froze in the cold.
No internet back then, no easy call, no cheap text,
every word to my folks felt like hope compressed.

Hook
State never helped us, man, we came with cold hands,
East block dreams, minimum wage, no stands.
Helped other people, no “thank you”, no glance—
all praise somewhere else, while we bled for our chance.

Verse 3
I ain’t mad at the people, I’m pissed at the fuckin’ system,
dividing human lives like files in a prison.
Some get keys to the door, others locked outside,
and if you come from the East, you better swallow your pride.
I washed mold, worked sick, slept on floors like a slave,
and the only thing I owned was the courage I gave.
If survival was a sport, I broke records every night,
while the state stayed blind to my East side fight.

Outro
So here’s my brutal truth—no filter, no mask:
I bled, I worked, I helped—nobody cared to ask.
But I’m still standing here, with scars as proof,
East European soul, steel voice, bulletproof.