Unlike Tower 1

Cage -
 You wanna shoot a video?
 Bring a pistol to Blockbuster
 Wanna step to Weathermen cause you all cocksuckers
 Want a soldier story? What's gold and gory
 Pullin jewelry off some dead bitch in the crematory
 Put 12 little faggots in the fuckin dirt then crawl,
 Out your little girl's jaw and ask her:
 WHO'S BIZARRE?
 I'm so underground I should seek production in China
 Cut a dime in half I got two nicks and one vagina
 Find a therapist that I can eat out SOON
 Cause I'm so home-sick I miss mom's Fallopian tubes
 My vision is still frame animation,
 Put a gun to a square, make him slice a mason
 Pissin adjacent, got a dog for an agent,
 Studied virtue in the basement where my doctor tried to keep his patients
 Paint a portrain, four minutes, no rush
 While fools flock in a circle to dissect the brush
 Chorus - 2x
 Half step, can't walk
 Drunk sluts, pants off
 Fake jacks, can't talk
 This mic, hands off
 New jacks, get taught
 Weak shit, get caught
 Your crew, shit's off
 Whack bitch, dick soft
 Copywrite-
 Doc Strange'll sop your Range,
 With a stinkin bucket of piss
 And cockblock your brain if you think of fuckin with this
 By Christ I've been summoned to spit,
 Son of a bitch up in your crib fuckin your bitch with one of my fists
 Pants saggin low, hand smackin ho's
 Get down with the Klan just to slit the Grand Dragon's throat
 The way I see everything on this damn Earth is free
 Murder beats and turn MCs to hamburger meat
 First comin of Copywrite, D for the mic
 Creep like a thief in the night
 Sneak in ya crib, leave with ya wife
 Repent for your recordings, when your engineer said your vocals were too hot
 He meant they were distorted,
 Explain how your venom harms your prey and you're hard to slay,
 When your DJ's dressin up in women's lingerie
 For Eons I infect ya'll with Agent Orange,
 If you don't know the words to these verses,
 Don't even say the chorus
 Chorus - 2x
 Mr. Eon-
 I stay unbreakable like David Dunn
 The Philly native son
 You Mr. Glass on mics, the jaded one
 Check out this ill crew's onslaught
 Your career is a Hot97 after-thought
 It's not my fault the asphalt and the past fought
 Now who's that kid from Space Mountain,
 Lookin like an accountant, highly touted
 Off and on again, really hip hop needs to take five like Donovan
 I end my coke nights with bong hits of Klonopin
 Send me the fuck to (Hannuman?) please
 Or release (E-Ceaze?) from the hospital for joint disease
 See the weasel on DaVinci's easel
 With the Mona Lisa oil painting shavings and scrapings
 Combined with championship trophy engravings,
 Clouds rock from foul crowds to out of bounds,
 Ya'll couldn't see my ass if I was in hospital gowns
 Chorus - 2x
 (this might not be all correct, and I'm certain I messed up a few spots in Eon's verse)