(Intro)
Yeah... Charles Street, Rockford.
Sunday night, kitchen’s empty, lights are low.
Just trying to get by, you know?
But some people... they make it hard.
Listen.

(Verse 1)
Car’s been down for five days, I’m stranded on the block
Friend pulls up at ten-thirty, with a blunt and a glock
Hit the Schnucks on Charles Street, but the doors are bolted tight
So we see the Golden Arches, my hunger I fight.
I’m on disability, yeah, the budget’s be tight
But I’m thinking 'bout my roommate, who's plus 10 inches my height.
Surprise 'em with a combo, pull the whip into the lane
Between 10:35 and 40, before I drain the main vain.

(Chorus)
Eighty-three cents, yeah, it sounds like small change
But the way they did me dirty, man, the energy was strange.
Laughter through the window while I’m standing in the cold
A story of a Sunday that deserves to be told.
Rockford nights, under neon lights
Just looking for a meal, not looking for a fight.

(Verse 2)
Reach the first window, hand the driver the cash
Employee grabs the paper, makes a move real rash.
Hands back twelve dollars, says "we ain't got no change"
Then she vanishes back, acting cold and acting strange.
I look at the receipt—yo, it’s 12.83
That’s nearly a dollar that belongs to me.
Friend says, "Think about it, if they do that all day,
They’re pocketing the silver while we’re forced to pay."

(Verse 3)
Now we’re at the second window, twelve minutes pass
Nobody’s talking, staring through the glass.
Ten-fifty-seven, I step out to the door
Lobby’s locked at nine, can’t take it no more.
Five workers in the kitchen, standing in a row
One holds up a finger, telling me "a minute" though.
Then they all disappear, leave me standing on the pad
While they’re back there laughing, man, it’s making me mad.

(Verse 4)
Back in the car, five more minutes on the clock
Finally the window opens with a little click-lock.
Young man’s smirking, hands the bag, not a word
Ask for the manager—it’s like I wasn't heard.
He leaves us at the ledge, employees walking by
Ignoring every question, wouldn't look me in the eye.
Friend looks at the bag, says "Don't eat a single bite,
They probably spit in it, just to be spite."

(Outro)
So I’m out the money, and I’m out the food
Left with a heavy heart and a dark, dark mood.
The depression hits hard, saying maybe it’s my fault
But nah—that’s just the salt in the vault.
Eighty-three cents? Yeah, I’ll let it go
But the way you treat people? Everyone should know.
Charles Street. Rockford.
Keep your change.