Ricochet Page #10

That's it, Blake.

It's an easy climb.

[man over loudspeaker]

5-1.3.

Come on,

smile for the cameras, Blake.

You got a nationwide

audience watching.

[chattering]

(man)

Isn't that

Earl Talbott Blake?

I mean, after all, this is

your farewell appearance.

F*** you!

[snapping]

Man, I ain't dressed

for this commando sh*t.

[squeaking]

[man over loudspeaker]

Descend at once,

and surrender yourself

for arrest.

[siren blaring]

More cops are coming.

[over speaker]

We can't hold 'em off.

Do what you gotta do,

man.

I'm on another gig.

[dramatic music]

[man over loudspeaker]

I say again...

[helicopter whirring]

[suspenseful music]

[grunting]

[tires screeching]

[sirens blaring]

[talking indistinctly]

[knife clanging]

[grunts in pain]

(Blake)

You can't win.

[woman screaming]

[chattering]

Why don't you

give up?

[stomping]

clang!

Odessa!

Do it!

(man)

You're not clear!

Don't wait for me.

[sawing]

Now!

[zapping]

Told that motherf***er

who had the power.

[screaming]

splat!

Ugh. Sh*t.

[ominous music]

You got the point now,

don't you, Blake?

[indistinct radio chatter]

[crowd chattering]

(woman)

Hurry up!

Mr. Styles?

Mr. Styles?

Do you have

a comment?

Mr. Styles,

are you all right?

[soft music]

[together]

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

Yes.

[siren blaring]

Come on.

Yo, O?

[upbeat synthesized music]

We're on the asphalt

next Saturday, right?

Word.

(Gail)

This is Gail Wallens

reporting live

from the twin towers,

where a life-and-death struggle

has just concluded,

a struggle, which,

it is now clear,

was deliberately orchestrated

for the police and the media...

Wait right here.

By Assistant District Attorney

Nicholas Styles.

An amazing scene here

at the famous towers,

which witnessed

the beginning

of Nick Styles'

political career

and its incredible

resurrection

of this violent

anincontestable proof

of his innocence.

Now, the death

of Earl Talbott Blake

may signal the--

Oh, Mr. Styles,

any comments, please?

Yeah.

Yeah.

News at 11?

Nah.

click!

(Gail)

Styles, you can't do that.

We're live.

(Nick)

We're live, huh?

Good.

Gail, kiss my ass.

[gunshot and explosion]

Copyright:
2004

Home Box Office, Inc.

Captioning by CaptionMax

Got sticky sneakers

from the blood of a shot cop.

Belt and a club, I'm leaving

tracks on the white rug.

Punk tried to riff,

and he met double-live slugs.

I ain't the n*gger

to step to.

I'm catching bodies,

and the next one could be you.

Quick on the trigger,

yo, I'm a grave digger.

Drop off a a body,

and deep six 'em in the river.

A nice talking psychopath.

All cops hunt the black male

in a ski mask.

But I'm too damn clever.

Will they ever catch me?

Never, because I operate

in and out of state,

move at a quick rate,

and never hesitate

to take a chump sucker

down.

And my HK,

it holds 80 rounds.

So when you move,

be careful, and don't play.

And watch

for the ricochet.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

Yeah.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

Yeah.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

Yeah.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

So shut up, motherfuckers,

as I laid the ink.

When I'm in Detroit,

n*ggers fight in mink.

When I'm in Chicago,

motherfuckers get buck wild.

When I'm up in Oakland,

n*ggers rolling in huge piles.

In Atlanta,

n*ggers crash your doors.

When I'm in Philly,

it's a sold out tour.

In L.A.,

I max out real hard.

When I'm in New York,

I bill with the Gods.

So don't try to deny me

my proper juice.

E cuts the records, and

the yellow n*gger gets loose.

No static,

just much respect.

Truck my Rolex

when I cruise the projects.

A fly brother

that's hard to figure.

Why I punch hos

and I smack up n*ggers?

Because I'm a pimp

and a player.

Sometimes I bum hip-hop.

The other times, Slayer

You don't like it, well,

stay out of my f***ing way.

Duck for the gunshot,

and watch to the ricochet.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

Yeah.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

Yeah.

Suicide;

it's a suicide.

Yeah.

N*ggers want to know about me

and the and the L, though.

We squashed that sh*t with me

and him about a year ago.

But there's a new rule

starting tonight.

Dis me on a record,

see me bite.

'Cause in a daze,

you saw a battle of mics.

Now it's '91; I'm using

gauges and flashlights.

Ease back, and don't give me

no feedback.

"Yo, Ice cool out."

Yo, f*** that.

I'm hot.

I'm putting n*ggers in cots.

Some get knocked out.

Some just get shot.

Where did I get all the juice

I used?

Gotta posse full of brothers

with nothing to lose.

Some just got out;

some will never.

Some beat the cases,

'cause their lawyers

were clever.

I love 'em all,

and they know that's true.

So they won't blink while

they doing a punk like you.

Freeze, motherf***er.

Get on your knees.

Hands behind your back.

Bow your heads,

if you will, please.

I'll swing my axe.

Watch the bodies fall.

Watch your head back off

like volleyball.

So all you motherfuckers

down with the fly guy,

look me in the face,

like you're strong

when you walk by.

And all you punk n*ggers

talking sh*t,

step to the side.

Bow your head like a b*tch;

I don't play.

You'll get hit

by the ricochet.

You'll get hit

by the ricochet.

You'll get hit

by the ricochet.

Yeah.

[uplifting music]

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