[Intro: hot towel steam, a radio low, one cello note] [Hook: calm low male, cello under every line] Lean back, lift your chin, let me see that throat Five hundred Thursdays, and I never missed a stroke Hot towel, cold steel, and a steady hand Close shave, Mr. Cole. Close as it gets. Understand? [Verse 1: slow, exact] Chair three by the window, with the crack across the seat He sits in it every Thursday, ten o'clock, his boys out on the street Same twenty, folded long. Same joke about the weather Same fuckin' cologne I smelled at the wake, on a man in soft black leather My boy was nineteen. Ran a package that he didn't know was short Cole's name was on that corner, and they found my boy behind the courts Never proved, never charged, never needed to be Whole block know who. And every week the who leans back for me [Flow switch: half-time, every word a stroke] With the grain, then against it. Two passes. Never more Thumb on the cheek, pull it tight, the way my daddy did before Blade along the jaw, where the big vein jumps like a fish inside a bag He thinks, "Lyle's too old to matter." Lyle's fine. Lyle's glad [Hook] Lean back, lift your chin, let me see that throat Five hundred Thursdays, and I never missed a stroke Hot towel, cold steel, and a steady hand Close shave, Mr. Cole. Close as it gets. Understand? [Verse 2: lower] Five hundred seventy-two times I been one inch from even Five hundred seventy-two times I let that man keep breathin' Ain't 'cause I'm scared. Ain't for the Lord. Ain't for the cops or the code It's 'cause one stroke and I'm finished, and I want to watch him know [Flow switch: whispered double-time] I could end it with a flick, wipe it, fold it, hang the cape Sweep the hair and call it in and never even change my face [Beat Switch: drums drop to cello and radio, then boom-bap returns heavier] This Thursday, first time in twelve years, he fell asleep under the steam Mouth open, hands loose, his boys out at the car, the shop so clean Razor in my hand. The vein. The clock. My boy's picture taped to the chrome He trusts me. Twelve years I made that man trust me. That's the part I own [Verse 3: close and quiet] Finished him perfect. Not a nick. Smoothest work I ever did Woke him gentle. "All done, sir." He touched his neck just like a kid Slid his twenty back across. "No charge today." He didn't like that. I could tell Man like Cole count every favor. Let him count this one. Let him dwell [Final Hook: calm, cello alone on the last line] Lean back, lift your chin, let me see that throat Five hundred seventy-three, and I never missed a stroke Hot towel, cold steel, and a steady hand Close shave, Mr. Cole. Same time next week. Understand? [End]
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