[Verse 1]
Five a.m. alarm, apron still smells like last night's fryer,
clock out the diner, clock into the rideshare timer,
twenty-nine hours here, twenty-nine hours there,
every shift capped one hour short of the compare,
'cause thirty's the line where a boss owes you a plan,
so they slice the week thin as a laminate card scan,
third job's a warehouse, scanning boxes till they blur,
I know the SKU numbers better than my own address, for sure,
it's Sisyphean work — same boulder, same hill, every climb,
three badges clipped to three different shirts, same grind every time.
[Chorus]
Three badges, one body, and no card in the drawer,
I'm working every hour except the one that's for
somebody who counts me, who'd cover me whole —
three jobs deep and still falling through the hole.
[Verse 2]
So here's one gear in the machine I can actually turn:
my phone's quietly logging every mile I earn,
rideshare runs, delivery loops, the detour for gas,
it timestamps the drive soon as the engine starts to pass,
builds the mileage report the CRA or the IRS wants,
line by line, so tax season isn't just a haunt,
that's real money coming back, not a loophole, not a myth,
deductions stacked up honest, built from the miles I'm with,
and when a boss needs proof of hours, trips, the whole account,
I choose what gets shared — my log, my amount.
[Verse 3]
Algorithm's always watching, rating every single run,
one star drops the fare, two stars and the shift is done,
I smile for the dash cam, seatbelt cinched up tight,
while an app in some server decides if I eat right tonight,
my daughter's asleep long before I'm halfway home,
she thinks three jobs means her daddy chose to roam,
but it's rent versus insulin, it's gas versus the light,
and the badges on my mirror all catch the same old light,
still I count the miles, write the truth in black and white,
'cause the system never saw me, so I built my own sight.
[Bridge]
It won't buy me a plan, won't patch the gap in the net,
won't make thirty hours out of twenty-nine just yet,
but a few hundred back is a few hundred less owed,
and that's the only kindness this road's ever showed.
[Chorus]
Three badges, one body, and no card in the drawer,
I'm working every hour except the one that's for
somebody who counts me, who'd cover me whole —
three jobs deep and still falling through the hole.
[Chorus]
Three badges, one body, and no card in the drawer,
I'm working every hour except the one that's for
somebody who counts me, who'd cover me whole —
three jobs deep and still falling through the hole.
[Outro]
Three badges, one shadow, stretched thin down the hall,
still logging the miles so I don't lose it all.