Tonight at the Barrymore

Just got a dose of wu tang, the illest and the realest rap gang
Now my face is dead but you still see me
Call it ghost like watching Demi
Moore we be asking for like rhymefest
But he hit the wayside with all the rest
When the Ironman sets down in town to seize the crown
In this torrent of words I begin to drown
Cuz this man owns the sound and knows the crowd
He got us living in his chest like a Duracell
As he began to sign those songs we knew so well
Tony Starks hitting the highlights of a great life
Set up by skyzoo, assisted by his man trife
This man started to tell some stories of strife
Streets poetry laid down on the dankest beats
And whenever shit went down he would bring the heat
Wu-tang head bangers, breaking plenty necks
Heads hit the ceiling when they scratch the decks
Pretty Toney balls hard, he knows all the angles
Rocking his red ass wallabies and kangol
House kept bumping, everybody jumpin
Bass so loud the windows thumpin
Rhymes so fire they burn up the page
And girls so fly they lift up the stage
Ghost gets the ladies up there grooving
Down in the crowd everybody keep moving
Heads nodding, hands in the air
Tony Starks is going on a tear
Ripping up the joint, with the clan on point
Soldiers in the front with that honey blunt
Troops on the left ready for some theft
Ghostdeini on stage the rapping mage
Wizard of poetry from the emerald city
Killin it in Madison he got no pity
with wu-tang your sword’s gotta be the keenest
And your rhymes they need to be the meanest
Yet amongst this clan, one man’s the best
Ghostface Killah, the greatest of all time
Best emcee to ever rock a rhyme
(At least that’s how I see it in my mind)