Everything They Told Me

Grandfather's name above the door,
50 Years of profit and pride.
I learned to trade before I could drive; thought I was keeping something alive.
Found the books in the basement safe,
Numbers that don't add up straight.
Every handshake was a front, every contract was a hunt,
Built on bags they never paid, promises they never made.
I wore that name like it meant something clean; now I know what legacy means.
I'm torching it all tonight, every brick, every light.
Let the flames take what they built on shame; I won't carry their stain.