DOLLAR BIN

Dollar bin, dollar bin, gold in the dollar bin

Somebody's grandmama's Sunday in the dollar bin

Scratched up, water stained, smell like an attic in it

Flip it, chop it, loop it, now it's Saturday again

Shop on Fayetteville, bell on the door

Man behind the counter been there since eighty-four

He don't ask what I'm looking for, he know I don't know

"Back left, bottom crate, I just put out some more"

Knees on the carpet, fingers getting dusty

Flip past the polka, the marching band, the country (hold up)

Horn section on the cover, six dudes in tan suits

Pressed in seventy-three, some label out of Baton Rouge

One dollar. One dollar. I'da paid nine

Man rang me up like he committing a crime

Kitchen table studio, pads next to the grits

Mama need the table back by six, so I'm quick

Needle drop, side B, track three, there it is

Two bars wide open 'fore the singer come in

I ain't steal it, I'm the reason that you heard of them again

That's a rescue. That's adoption. That's the dollar bin.

Dollar bin, dollar bin, gold in the dollar bin

Somebody's grandmama's Sunday in the dollar bin

Scratched up, water stained, smell like an attic in it

Flip it, chop it, loop it, now it's Saturday again

Library card from Central, never turned it in

Liner notes my textbooks, I was majoring in them

Who played bass? Who got paid? Who got a flat fee

And a handshake while the label ate for thirty years? Exactly

See, I read the fine print that they hid in the groove

Session players built the house and never got a room

So when I clear a sample I go find the family

Cut the check to the daughter, not the company (that's how you do it)

Off-grid drums 'cause my people don't march

We lean, we swing, we late, but we arrive

Eagle on my hoodie, Bull City on the plate

Parrish Street taught me how to own what I make

They want it clean, no crackle, no hiss

I leave the dust on, that's the proof that it lived

Every pop is a year, every skip is a scar

You hear a flaw. I hear who we are.

Hold on, let it ride

(that's the part right there)

You hear that horn crack? He was nineteen

One take. Wasn't no fixing it.

(run it back)

Dollar bin, dollar bin, gold in the dollar bin

Somebody's grandmama's Sunday in the dollar bin

Scratched up, water stained, smell like an attic in it

Flip it, chop it, loop it, now it's Saturday again