Love and a Bullet

When I was 10, my father put a bullet
in my mother's heart...

...rattled off some cryptic shit
about the rent being due...

...and then he put a slug in his own head.
With that level
of Jackson-family-on-crack-type dysfunction...

:00:52's no wonder I turned out the way I did.
My name is Malik Bishop
and I'm a professional hit man.

Until a month ago,
I was the hardest, coldest bastard...

:01:09 screw a silencer on a pistol.
I know what you're thinking:
"What kind of a moral existence is that?

"Professional hit man."
The way I see it, the world is full of people that,
quite frankly, we all could do without.

Some will argue that I'm one of them,
but I digress.

I would say that I was a custodian
of anthropological refuse.

Meaning, I kill motherfuckers that are worthless.
Which leads me to my current dilemma.
That's my target, Cynda Griffie.
Kind of cute, huh?

So, check this: 7:00 a.m.,
she does 30 minutes on the treadmill...

...followed by yoga, then a hot bath.
Me? I do 30 minutes of shadowboxing
followed by calisthenics...

...watching her take a hot bath.
You can see by now that I'm one of those,
what you call, complex black men.

Yeah, that's right, I'm complex.
But don't get it twisted.