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)