Folks talk about gravity like it got rules that only apply to certain people.

Like if you change faces on the way up, slip between what you are and what you ain’t, build yourself a perfect little world, glow like you touched by somethin’ divine, move like you the one doin’ the hunt, preach like the whole world supposed to follow you, and live off the story you told yourself long enough, that maybe you can climb right past the weight hangin’ over your head.

Nah… Gravity don’t recognise none of that. It don’t care what rung you standin’ on, how high you look from the ground, or how close your fingers feel to that little prize swingin’ above you.

Every step upward? You stack somethin’ on yourself.

That shine? That image? That belief? That control you think you got? That’s weight.

And the higher you get? The less space you got to hide it between them rungs.

Me? I’ll let you climb. I’ll let you stretch.

I’ll let you get real comfortable on them higher rungs.

‘Cause once I step in? I don’t have to shake or pull nothin’.

I just make everything you carry feel heavier than them hands can hold.

Glitter… You floatin’ between lines, movin’ like you ain’t tied to nothin’, but up there? Every rung demand weight – and gravity gon’ remind you real quick what you actually are.

Lux Bellator… You climbin’ like you lit from above, but the higher that light get? The more it got to carry – and even light start bendin’ when the pressure too real.

El Ídolo Perdido… You reachin’ like the next step gon’ make you who you used to be – but that case don’t care about your past. Only thing it care about is how you fall.

Aranza… You movin’ like you huntin’ rung to rung, but up there ain’t no prey – just gravity waitin’ for you to run outta strength.

Dolly Daydream… You climbin’ like everything neat and placed just right, but one shift? One slip? That whole little world you built start collapsin’ the same as anything else

Padre de la Venganza… You climb preachin’, talkin’ like every step got purpose. But gravity don’t follow sermons or care how you got up there – just how fast you comin’ down.

And Blackhand Moretti… You comfortable in the depths, huh? That’s cute. Means you already know the feeling when gravity comes collectin’. Difference is – I decide how fast you meet it.

So go on, shamoans… Climb.

Reach.

Feel how close you think you are.

Let that case swing just outta touch long enough to make you believe, ’cause when I step in? That height turn into distance.

That reach turn into strain.

Everything you brought with you turn into weight.

And that case hangin’ over your heads?

That ain’t no prize to be claimed.

It’s a weight waitin’ to drop.

Ram Jam? Nah… He don’t climb. He let the whole world rise, stretch, and believe – just so it got somewhere to fall from.

And when that weight finally settle? Ain’t nothin’ left up there.

‘Cause everything up high…

Come down to me.