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