"All Cats Are Grey" ("All Cats Are Grey" by The Cure from Faith)

He was a sugarcane wizard. The nigga had more snow than the great blizzard of 1907. He had a lot of Tevin Campbell CDs, that word to Dave Geffen. Bend the "David Beckham" and inhale the smoke. He regaled us with tales of the murders he wrote. The nightingales sang low in the clouds, while the owls were chilling, playing it cool, you could hear the wolves howl. The nigga pulled out like $70k and put it down on the table, next to the sable. Money from the stables he owned, and such, while his rope-chain cable, excessive truck. He poured cerveza--I wasn't sipping--bumping his lips about a plan that was major. Told me the cash was mine and all I had to do was keep silent and getaway drive. And then he said that I could give it some time and think about it, call him in the morning and then decide. The next day it's ten minutes to 9a, I got the phone and I'm dialing, talking 'bout "yo my nigga, let's ride." It was the simplest crime--at least theoretically: a diamond heist, snatching ice from the mezzanine level of the Trump Tower, it'll be smooth, but if a nigga make a move, hit him with the gun powder. Yo, it's now or never. We go out, well then we go down together, hard as tough leather. Two small security guards are in the courtyard, watching us approach, and me, I smoked up on the looseleaf cigarette, caught an ill feeling. The guard looks back, I'm reaching for the gat. And just when I'm thinking 'bout peeling his cap, he looks at me and says "please no smoking in the building." Damn, that's what's up. It's getting hot, two other rent-a-cops just passed us up. But I don't pay it no mind, ain't no time to hesitate. I move slow, walk over to the "elevate". My man mosied over to the staircase smooth, but I surmise from the look in his eyes he ain't cool. Shook like puss-in-boots, this nigga's weak, probably speak to police and try to cook my goose. But he can get the duck sick for that. Try to hate on me? I'll deflate him like a busted flat. But enough of that for now, move to room 206, bust it down with the judo-kick. "Give me the igloos quick! The rings and the wallabee Clarks. This ain't funny, no comedy, God. Ain't no use in trying to be hard, just give it up, and I'll be in the breeze like 'Pardon me, par'." I heard a sneeze, looked over at the window. This nigga had his seed and I can't kill innocent kinfolk. He must've been ten years old, so I decided to let him go, turned my back and then he shouted out "Uncle Steve" to the nigga standing next to me. Heart frozen, I couldn't believe it was a setup got wet up and pushed down the steps and fell to my agonizing death. Yo.