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Assault case reportedly involves Hawking

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CAMBRIDGE, England - Police are investigating an allegation of assault on astrophysicist Stephen Hawking, news reports said Monday.

 

The Daily Mirror newspaper said Hawking's adult children were worried about a series of unexplained assaults. The inquiry was triggered by nursing staff who contacted police in the summer after Hawking — who is paralyzed and uses a wheelchair — had been left stranded in his garden on the hottest day of the year and suffered severe heatstroke and sunburn, the paper said.

 

Asked about the reports, police on Monday confirmed that they are "investigating an allegation of assault on a 62-year-old man from Cambridge" but, as is customary, would not identify the alleged victim or give details of the accusation.

 

Hawking, 62-year-old Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University, is the author of the best-selling "A Brief History of Time."

 

He has suffered from motor neurone disease for more than 40 years and is paralyzed except for the ability to move some fingers. He speaks with a computerized voice box.

 

The three children are from Hawking's first marriage. He left his wife, Jane, for his nurse, Elaine Mason, whom he married in 1995.

 

The report said Hawking was under surveillance Monday in a Cambridge hospital where he was being treated for an unrelated case of pneumonia.

 

The Daily Mirror said that in 2000, family and medical staff had contacted police with allegations of unexplained injuries, but that police dropped the investigation when Hawking refused to make a complaint.

 

 

 

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=stor...itain_hawking_4

 

 

http://us.news1.yimg.com/us.yimg.com/p/rids/20040119/i/r1454311816.jpg'>

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M.C. Hawkins my man dont take no shit from bitch ass niggas. All his shootins be DRIVEBYS check dese lyrics son. And his MP3's.

All My Shootin's Be Drivebys

Trash Talk

Ah yeah, that's right motherfuckers!

I'm back riding a funky track.

I got a story to tell you all,

So listen up!

Yo! Trip on this!

 

Verse 1

I'm rolling through the hood on a Saturday night,

got a 40 in my left hand, my dick in my right,

some chronic in my lap, a pager in my cap,

and a 9 millimeter in the small of my back.

I'm just chilling no place to be,

I take another pull off my 40 z.

I'm thinking 'bout spinning a fat ass tree,

a B to the L to the U-N-T.

 

Then I get a call on my dope cell phone,

check the caller ID, what up homes?

Yo, it's the Doom and his news ain't good:

"little Pookie got capped last night in the hood."

I feel like the world is fading away,

I saw Little Pookie just the other day.

Pookie was my boy we shared Kool-aid in the park,

now some punks took his life in the dark.

 

I ask Doomsday who the motherfuckers be,

"some punk ass bitches from MIT."

The fucking Institute, man I should've known,

I say meet me at my crib and hang up the phone.

Playtimes over I got a job to do,

and the world will be less crowded by the time I'm through,

and I'll keep rolling while bullets fly,

cause all my shootings be drivebys.

 

Verse 2

One minute to midnight we hit the street,

cold as a cadaver, hard as concrete.

Doomsday's packing a baby Mac,

got my AK-47 and the nine in my back.

The Alpine's glowing, P-E's flowing,

got my swerve on tight and my game face showing.

Them damn punks are gonna pay,

the Hawks on the case a bird of prey.

 

Then up ahead cold chilling in the street,

six motherfuckers from MIT.

I flick off the safety, check my grip,

and load a dum-dum clip.

I glance at the Doom to make sure he's packed,

his fingers on the trigger of his baby Mac.

Time to give a Newtonian demonstration,

of a bullet its mass and its acceleration.

 

Nine on my lap AK in my hand,

I roll up slow like a snake in the sand.

I wait till I'm sure they can see my face,

then I bust out slugs to the beat of the bass.

The streets sketched out in the full moon light,

MIT punks dying left and right.

There's nowhere to run don't even try,

cause all my shootings be drivebys.

 

Verse 3

Then silence hits the street like a bomb,

an eerie calm like the eye of storm.

Beneath the glow of an old street light,

dead MIT punks be the only sight.

6 motherfuckers no longer alive,

and Pookie's been avenged 1 for 1 plus 5,

and we'll be long gone 'fore the cops arrive,

'cause all my shootin's be, Drivebys.

 

Trash Talk

Ah yeah! I'm busting more shit than an incontinent man at a chili cook-off!

The moral of the story is:

Don't fuck with the Hawkman, 'cause the Hawkman ain't down with that eye for an eye bullshit.

Fuck that! You take an eye and I'll take your motherfucking head!

 

 

 

http://www.mchawking.com/multimedia.php?pa...e_function=mp3z

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Originally posted by suburbian bum

M.C. Hawkins my man dont take no shit from bitch ass niggas. All his shootins be DRIVEBYS check dese lyrics son. And his MP3's.

All My Shootin's Be Drivebys

Trash Talk

Ah yeah, that's right motherfuckers!

I'm back riding a funky track.

I got a story to tell you all,

So listen up!

Yo! Trip on this!

 

Verse 1

I'm rolling through the hood on a Saturday night,

got a 40 in my left hand, my dick in my right,

some chronic in my lap, a pager in my cap,

and a 9 millimeter in the small of my back.

I'm just chilling no place to be,

I take another pull off my 40 z.

I'm thinking 'bout spinning a fat ass tree,

a B to the L to the U-N-T.

 

Then I get a call on my dope cell phone,

check the caller ID, what up homes?

Yo, it's the Doom and his news ain't good:

"little Pookie got capped last night in the hood."

I feel like the world is fading away,

I saw Little Pookie just the other day.

Pookie was my boy we shared Kool-aid in the park,

now some punks took his life in the dark.

 

I ask Doomsday who the motherfuckers be,

"some punk ass bitches from MIT."

The fucking Institute, man I should've known,

I say meet me at my crib and hang up the phone.

Playtimes over I got a job to do,

and the world will be less crowded by the time I'm through,

and I'll keep rolling while bullets fly,

cause all my shootings be drivebys.

 

Verse 2

One minute to midnight we hit the street,

cold as a cadaver, hard as concrete.

Doomsday's packing a baby Mac,

got my AK-47 and the nine in my back.

The Alpine's glowing, P-E's flowing,

got my swerve on tight and my game face showing.

Them damn punks are gonna pay,

the Hawks on the case a bird of prey.

 

Then up ahead cold chilling in the street,

six motherfuckers from MIT.

I flick off the safety, check my grip,

and load a dum-dum clip.

I glance at the Doom to make sure he's packed,

his fingers on the trigger of his baby Mac.

Time to give a Newtonian demonstration,

of a bullet its mass and its acceleration.

 

Nine on my lap AK in my hand,

I roll up slow like a snake in the sand.

I wait till I'm sure they can see my face,

then I bust out slugs to the beat of the bass.

The streets sketched out in the full moon light,

MIT punks dying left and right.

There's nowhere to run don't even try,

cause all my shootings be drivebys.

 

Verse 3

Then silence hits the street like a bomb,

an eerie calm like the eye of storm.

Beneath the glow of an old street light,

dead MIT punks be the only sight.

6 motherfuckers no longer alive,

and Pookie's been avenged 1 for 1 plus 5,

and we'll be long gone 'fore the cops arrive,

'cause all my shootin's be, Drivebys.

 

Trash Talk

Ah yeah! I'm busting more shit than an incontinent man at a chili cook-off!

The moral of the story is:

Don't fuck with the Hawkman, 'cause the Hawkman ain't down with that eye for an eye bullshit.

Fuck that! You take an eye and I'll take your motherfucking head!

 

 

 

http://www.mchawking.com/multimedia.php?pa...e_function=mp3z

 

 

HAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

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what's dope is that even tho dood can't move shit but a finger..talks through a computerized voice box..and looks bugged the fuck out..he still had enough game to bag his nurse and bounce on his first wife...who probably got really fat after 20-somethin years of marriage

 

he's a downlow dirty piiiiaaammpp

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Originally posted by enueone

what's dope is that even tho dood can't move shit but a finger..talks through a computerized voice box..and looks bugged the fuck out..he still had enough game to bag his nurse and bounce on his first wife...who probably got really fat after 20-somethin years of marriage

 

he's a downlow dirty piiiiaaammpp

 

thats was really funny

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Artist: S Dot HawkBling featuring Theodore Huxtable

Album: A Brief History of Crime

Song: Don't Hate On Tha S Dot

 

Intro:

 

Theo Huxtable: Aiyyo... niggas wanna hate on the S Dot get their caps peeled back. Left that muthafucka out on the sun... we don't let dat shit slizzide, right homie?

 

S Dot HawkBling: Word up. Niggas can't fuck with this, we gonna show you how we ride on these bitch-ass niggas... peep game!

 

Verse 1: S Dot HawkBling

 

Fuck these hatin ass niggas who wanna fuck with the S Dot

I observe you herbs like astronomers view sun spots

Fuck around and catch gun shots,

What tha blood clot

Gold Daytons on tha wheelchair, you niggas is real scared

I was the first to rock cornrows with crop circles in my hair

Platinum iced out bifocals on my face

You niggas is a disgrace, get out my handicapped parkin space

Bitch this is Cambridge,

got so many bitches pregnant, don't pay child support so I don't claim kids

 

Chorus: (repeat 2x)

Don't hate on tha S Dot

I'll fuck yo girl in her wet spot

Roll up on you pull a drive-by

So much ice on my wrist I light up the night sky

 

Verse 2: Theodore Huxtable

T Dot Hux, we got bucks

Fuck wit us and get your knees knocked up

Proffessor of Mathematics at the School of Hard Knocks

My nigga HawkBling roll up on yo block

Gang signs thrown up, mark-ass bitches get shown up

Stop lookin at our bitches, nigga get your own sluts

FUBU, Phat Farm, Sean Jean, and Rocawear

We ballin for real, haters can't help but cop a stare

Fo Life...

 

Chorus: (repeat 2x)

Don't hate on tha S Dot

I'll fuck yo girl in her wet spot

Roll up on you pull a drive-by

So much ice on my wrist I light up the night sky

 

Outro:

S Dot HawkBling: Yeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh nigga!!! This is how we do in the Two Zero Zero Fo'! Cambridge! You better back da fuck up befo you get smacked da fuck up! I'll jack you for yo telescope and calculus text books! Fuck you and yo science projects nigga!

 

Theodore Huxtable: No doubt. That's how we do in the hood. Galaxy Records in this bitch. Other record labels get their chains snatched and their bitches taken. Money makin niggas Two Oh Oh Four. What!

 

S Dot HawkBling: Theo let's get outta here... We out...

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