They’ll Pay the Price

Look at him. Flipping dough like he owns the block. Cute. I built this place on steam and flame On knife-edge timing, pride, and name I fed this street through rain and rot And now that clown gets all the lot He throws some cheese, they call it art He grins, they hand the fool their heart One little sign, one cheap red booth And suddenly he’s “neighborhood truth” But I was here Before his lights Before his little Friday nights Before the bloggers, before the praise Before they crowned his tired displays They’ll pay the price Yes, they’ll pay the price But it’s still $9.79 for our shrimp fried rice I’ll smile real nice Then cut him down to size With better food, a louder room, and expertly sharpened knives Not for murder, no, relax For chopping scallions, tax by tax I’ll bury him in specials till he chokes on his own hype They’ll pay the price Yes, they’ll pay the price He flirts with every waiting guest Like bad cologne in a powder vest He calls that charm, I call it need A desperate man who still can’t read I know his rush, his weakest hour I know exactly when he sours I know the nights his driver’s late I know the cracks beneath the plate He thinks this war Is sauce and dough He has no idea how far I’ll go A banner here, a coupon there A violinist by my stair They’ll pay the price Yes, they’ll pay the price But it’s still $9.79 for our shrimp fried rice I’ll dim his shine Then make the whole block mine With lunch combos so devastating they should qualify as crimes I’ll take his crowd at 6:15 And keep them lined to 10:13 He’ll watch them cross the street and know exactly why they switched They’ll pay the price Yes, they’ll pay the price You think I’m angry? No. Angry is loud. This is focus. This is twenty years of swallowed insults Reduced To a perfect glaze. I catered birthdays Funerals Breakups Reunions Election nights Snowstorms Blackouts And that article called him “The beating heart of the block” The beating heart? Then what am I? The blade. I do not need to break his legs I only need to break his week A grand rebrand, a glowing sign A tasting tray, a savage review A midnight ad buy, fresh paint, new lights A hostess with a voice like judgment And one more thing Free dumplings Friday. They’ll pay the price Yes, they’ll pay the price But it’s still $9.79 for our shrimp fried rice I’m calm, precise A demon merchandised A velvet-gloved annihilation with a laminated side Let him toss his dough and wink I’ll make his whole illusion sink By Monday he’ll be begging just to keep his lunch alive They’ll pay the price Yes, they’ll pay the price This street is far too small for two kings to survive So choose your throne Choose your meal Choose the side that stays alive And the family combo starts at $26.95. No substitutions. No substitutions.