Sweeping Bullet Shells -

Vodka in the toolbox

I have a billion eyes, but I live in darkness

I have a million ears

Wu-Tang

…Paint the stone steps red

The Black Knight is alive and roaming through the hallways

Of the L.A. Museum, with his sword

Song without end, battle the damned spirit

Tropical lullabies, painting sky papers

Fighting in the rain, a brain in a bird cage

Shoe maker dance, been rhyming since the third grade

Big bells ring, conquer all fears

The serpent licked the woman on the ears, carry spears

Tra-la-la, pistol in the bread box

Rats in the cuckoo clock, devils hung

A skeleton loading a gun, in a snowstorm

Creatures great and small, all gather

Evening in the garden, a song at dusk

Here to test your trust, royal flush

Whisper to my left, some people want it

Over there is a tree with a rope that has your name on it

March through the swamp, a book of picture riddles

Tum-ta-tum-tum, catch me if you can

Cut an M.C. into five, the best delivered

Be careful in the, piranhas infest the river

Wu-Tang Clan, warriors on the hillside

Mighty Warcloud, the dead flowers bloom

An old woman seized her sweeping broom

And swept all the bullet shells out of the room

Snatch your arms out the socket and stuff 'em in your back pocket

I glow like a tree in the distance with persistence

Paint his palm red, your suffering will be legendary

March scrolls on my back, deep as February

Hot like Caribbean fireworks, I feature

Nightmare creatures, dead men in the bleachers

The old woman seized her sweeping broom

And swept all the bullet shells out of the room

By then I crept out, quiet as mice

All wet with blood, still cold as nice

House on the hillside, skill, couldn’t match it

Running down the old staircase, holding a hatchet

Shot for his shoulder, blew half of his face off

Renaissance carnival, screwball the crackpot

MC’s attack not, they in the whack spot

Brushing their teeth with rocks, while I flip it

Oh the gifted, warrior hieroglyphic

Last emperor, I swiped it while you missed it

Call him Warcloud, now carry the Skeleton Lode

Break off your foot and throw it into the sunset

Old Holocaust is dead, flowers for sale

Green bottles of rifle on the wall

The tailor, who spoke to the man with his eye sewn shut

Wu-Tang is the illest, nigga, what?

Beware of the stranger, roll up and

Off to the woods, I smile before I shoot you

Flew over cuckoo, I went upstairs

Came to the mic like hungry grizzly bears

Straight out the slum, the fog city news

Drag an MC to his tomb, and sing the blues

Old tommy gun, zipper head and lead foot

Murder MC’s from L.A. to Red Hook

Teeth of a saw, cutting through your ribcage

Deep in the dead of the night, drinking liquor

Came with the lady in a picture, spit a mixture

Ace up my sleeve, with Belgian elixir

Rhyme like an evening after firing range

Through the torn curtain I see the dead city

Bullets in the soup, I leap across roofs

During the course of my intellectual pursuit