Tour Song Too - Coolzey, Sadat X, William Elliott Whitmore

Man I’m always on tour

At least that’s what everybody tells me

What could I say?

I guess the power of the people compels me

My people keep me sane and on top of my game

Showing me my target so I know where to aim

and just how far I got to pull back my bow string

Coolzey I rock the mic but with no bling

It’s no thing

Just a regular bro thing

A mic’s just one of the many weapons that I’m holding

You think that you could be me for real?

Nah, I also got a MPC, a shotty and a skil-saw

and I still draw, act, write and work on houses,

wait tables, book shows and flip ounces

Plus I gotta find time to sleep, eat, catch a flick,

Exercise, relax, make beats, jerk my dick

and still have time for wine, women and weed, too

Yo X, where you going when we pick you up from Jet Blue?

SADAT X

I go from continent to country

State by state

in the Montana van

Coolzey’s driving, my man

My software leaves no time to prepare

You holding out on the weed, dog?

Blow it in the air

In the back seat it’s share

Look how I messed up her hair

But she’s old so no pregnancy scare

I’m rare, untraceable

Strictly in code

Shake your ass on down and move your lymph nodes

WILLIAM ELLIOTT WHITMORE

We ain’t got far to ride

If we make time, say it’s about a day

Until I’m home

There will be porches and wine

My stage life will be miles away

But I know

That it won’t be too long

No it won’t be too long

Until I sing that tour song

No it won’t be too long

I know that my home will be miles away

So have mercy

SADAT X

It’s eight bars to the stars

Me and Coolzey we just won ours

In America’s heartland

I do my part, man

because that’s what I does

No particular reason

Season after season

Yeah, I be the rapper

Your girl gets out of line

What you gonna do?

Slap her?

That would be the capper for me sliding in

Don’t you do that my man

I’ll lift her dress like the wind

COOLZEY

High of experience and education

Try to put me in the Days Inn

Enough excuse for me to cave your face in

Liquor chasing with the Stella

Where’s hip hop when they won’t press up a 12 inch with an a cappella?

Promoters who front they get beat down

You love Busta but you never heard of Dinco D and C Brown

You’re like

How can I be down?

See clown, you gotta learn to cultivate the renown

Welcome to Z Town

Population 88

Number of personalities I got trapped up in my metal plate

I like to call a brain

My wrecking ball and chain

Crush this industry to rubble until no shitty wall remain

But is it all in vain?

How should I know?

I’m just a Henny sipping Philly hitting wino

So go ahead and sue me

I’m just another Rumi

Drunken poet wooing honey-dips until they do me

WILLIAM ELLIOTT WHITMORE

We ain’t got far to ride

If we make time, say it’s about a day

Until I’m home

There will be porches and wine

My stage life will be miles away

But I know

That it won’t be too long

No it won’t be too long

Until I sing that tour song

No it won’t be too long

I know that my home will be miles away

So have mercy