Block Diagnosis

[Verse 1]
Cracked concrete where Tio Miguel fell in '97
I got his blood type sutured right into the sediment
Seen a thousand scuffed-up Jordans, prognosis heaven-sent
I'm the front-page trauma unit, resident and president
I feel the bass bleed from the third floor, that's a symptom
Lil' Rico's first scraped knee, I was the victim
Heard the whisper network treatment plan, the block's own dictum
I just hold the weight and never talk, that's my system.

[Chorus]
I hold the pressure point, I keep the chart clean
Every hairline fracture, every fever dream
I'm the waiting room for everything that's in-between
The curb is my instrument tray, y'know what I mean?

[Verse 2]
July was ninety-eight degrees, a city-wide infection
They had a first kiss right here, a sterile-glove connection
She left for college in a cab, a surgical selection
Amputated half the block's heart with no anesthetic section
Saw the new kids move their mattress in, they look so nervous
Heard 'em mapping out their futures, what's the prognosis, what's the service?
Watched the last family leave, packed up their final purpose
I just stay, a silent scar across the surface.

[Spoken Interlude]
(Muffled bachata music from an open window)
(Sound of a screen door closing)
*"Ay, nena. Don't you sit on that cold step. That's a sickness you can't operate on, you hear me?"*

[Chorus]
I hold the pressure point, I keep the chart clean
Every hairline fracture, every fever dream
I'm the waiting room for everything that's in-between
The curb is my instrument tray, y'know what I mean?

[Outro]
Diagnosis… Grand Concourse.
Prognosis… pending.