| He was the middle son of three children, lived in my building
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| He went to Tilden, quiet cat, always kept to himself
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| He never chilled with anybody but his girlfriend, drove an ‘82 Whirlwind
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| Homie’s grades in school was perfect
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| Honour student with a talent for mathematics
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| Used to design computer graphics in class instead of doodling
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| I would write rhymes, smoke blunts on the bench at night time
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| While he was doing his homework and watching Nightline
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| Looking over MIT brochures
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| Invitations to the Pentagon from headhunters of course
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| I heard that NASA was inquiring about his status
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| He was about to be a rookie in the NBA of mathematics
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| A rock star amongst astronauts, first round draft pick
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| Amongst physicists and cancer doctors
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| Then the CIA recruited him to be a shooter
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| I set him up so that Diabolic could shoot him
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| We planned assassination plots, lasers attached to gats that pop
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| Finely glued to the top of the barrel, the average shot
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| Could take two people’s heads off simultaneously
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| Aiming at cranium spraying them in the coffin displaying them
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| This that shoot you in the face movement
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| Bill and Diabolic is like Schwarzenegger and Stallone in the same movie
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| I’m like Bronson in the Violent City
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| Freedom fighter like Mumia, kill cops in Philly, listen
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| Introduce a little anarchy. |
| Upset the established order and everything becomes
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| chaos
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| I’m an agent of chaos. |
| Oh, and you know the thing about chaos?
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| It’s fear
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| It was a quarter past eight o’clock
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| Bill called me and he named the spot
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| This vacant lot around the way from the bagel shop
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| He schooled me to exactly how the CIA would plot
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| To make hip hop’s value nothing more than a Jacob watch
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| Illustrated by what’s built with ancient blocks
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| And the all-seeing eye through Jay’s hand that portrays the Roc
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| Not to worry, I had Engineer pay the cops
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| So they would not respond to the calls about a fatal shot
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| I later topped this roof viewing through a sniper scope
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| What I like to call a future murder scene with righteous hope
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| About to light a smoke when two headlights approached
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| Rifle smoke strikes when they touch ground like lightning bolts
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| Twice the volts in the same spot amazingly
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| It’s two birds, one stone, met his partner from the agency
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| Was ex-KGB, defected through the State Department
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| Wanted by authorities for treason, he’s been made a target
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| Took my position with this loaded rifle, aimed and sparked it
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| A single shot killed them both, blood stained their garments
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| Guess all the CIA and NASA training ain’t matter
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| When his brains splattered on the pavement as his face shattered
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| The day after is used to cover tracks and lock the fortress
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| Shot our sources and disposed of all their rotting corpses
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| I know it’s stunning, we ain’t running like some track stars
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| We chill with bodies buried in Uncle Howie’s backyard
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| Laughing |