now eat!!

*[Intro — spoken, calm, almost a whisper]* Yeah... lock the front door, flip the sign to closed. Apron on. Knives laid out like the good silverware. Mama always said "you are what you eat"... so I been eatin' real good for years. Welcome to the meat market. Take a number. *[Hook]* Welcome to the meat market, ticket in your hand, pick a cut, pick a carcass, deals on demand, sicc made, dinner plated, body in the pan, chop it, lock it, stock it in the freezer, that's the plan. Welcome to the meat market, ain't no refunds here, smell the dinner cookin' when the coast is clear, sicc made, dinner made, everybody gotta eat, say grace, then I carve another plate of street meat. *[Verse 1 — the shop]* Fluorescent flicker in the back room where the magic happens, butcher block of problems and a bag of broken promises, plug pulled up with the loud, thought he was the pick of the litter, now he on the table 'cause his product was bitter. Apron stained, brain deranged, blade swingin' with the rhythm, cut the middleman out, now he part of my ecosystem, served him with a side of rice, told his people that he'd miss 'em, check the lost and found — he in my digestive system. Scale on the counter, weigh the beef before I bag it, toe tag for the receipt, that's a different kind of plastic, customer is always right, so I never do 'em tragic, quick and clean behind the scenes, disappear like magic. Marinate the memories, let the trauma tenderize, every sucka that I seasoned got a look of pure surprise, told 'em "dinner's almost ready," watched the fear rise in his eyes, now he part of the menu and his mama wonderin' why. *[Verse 2 — the menu]* Monday's special: sucka stew with a side of betrayal, Tuesday: backstabber brisket, hangin' by his toenails, Wednesday: witness waffles, make the whole block wail, Thursday: thirsty Thursday, put a shark up for sale. Got a walk-in freezer full of fellas who was flexin', now they portioned, vacuum-sealed, and waitin' for inspection, health department never come around to ask me questions, 'cause the shop so clean it could pass a resurrection. T-bone of a busta who was runnin' off at the mouth, ribeye of a rider who was reppin' for the South, fillet of a phony with a phone full of clout, ground beef of a goofy, now he never goin' out. Friday's fish fry: flaky snitch with a side of slaw, Saturday: slow-cooked snake, let it simmer till it's raw, Sunday: closed for business, that's the only Sabbath law, but the hunger never rests and the hunger never thaw. *[Hook]* Welcome to the meat market, ticket in your hand, pick a cut, pick a carcass, deals on demand, sicc made, dinner plated, body in the pan, chop it, lock it, stock it in the freezer, that's the plan. Welcome to the meat market, ain't no refunds here, smell the dinner cookin' when the coast is clear, sicc made, dinner made, everybody gotta eat, say grace, then I carve another plate of street meat. *[Verse 3 — the dinner rush]* Friday night rush and the line out the door, regulars know the flavor that they never had before, secret sauce, secret recipe, secret buried in the floor of the shop, mop it up, then I open up for more. Critic from the paper said the texture was divine, said the flavor hit his palate like a vintage wine, didn't know the main ingredient did a nickel for a dime, now he got a doggy bag and he runnin' out of time. Dessert menu: finger food, and I mean that literal, told the waiter "hold the plate," I'm a bit habitual, eatin' off the evidence, it's purely ritual, cannibal with manners, keep it clean and keep it minimal. Sommelier suggest a pairing for the main course grief, a full-bodied fear with a hint of disbelief, aged in the cellar where I keep the brisket beef, dine and dash'll get you put beneath the concrete reef. *[Bridge — spoken, cooking-show host voice]* Alright, welcome back to the show. Tonight we're workin' with a fresh cut — grass-fed, street-raised. First you wanna sear it on a high heat, lock in the flavor. Little salt, little pepper, little bit of that siccness seasoning. And remember, folks — the secret ingredient is always... not askin' questions. We'll be right back. *[Verse 4 — the comedown]* Sunday morning, shop is quiet, sweep the floor alone, bleach the tile, wipe the steel, make it look like home, stomach full, mind at peace, sittin' on the throne, king of the kitchen, and the kitchen is my zone. But late at night when the hunger start to callin', hear the voices in the freezer, hear the bodies fallin', told myself I'd quit, but the appetite's appallin', meat market never closes, man, the curtain keep on callin'. So I sharpen up the steel and I tighten up the apron, another sucka at the door with his coffin already waitin', heard the special of the day, now his heartbeat acceleratin', welcome to the meat market... bon appetit, I'm starvin'. Told the mirror "one more," but the mirror told me "never," every plate I finish only make the hunger cleverer, it's a gift and it's a curse, it's forever and ever, sicc made for life, man, I couldn't stop it ever. *[Hook]* Welcome to the meat market, ticket in your hand, pick a cut, pick a carcass, deals on demand, sicc made, dinner plated, body in the pan, chop it, lock it, stock it in the freezer, that's the plan. Welcome to the meat market, ain't no refunds here, smell the dinner cookin' when the coast is clear, sicc made, dinner made, everybody gotta eat, say grace, then I carve another plate of street meat. *[Outro — spoken, dishes clinking, fading]* Check please... nah, this one's on the house. You ate good tonight. Real good. Don't worry 'bout what was in it — some recipes, some recipes you just don't ask about. (door locks) See you next week. Same time. Bring an appetite.