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Bust open the yola, then you throw it in the pot |
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Mix that soda with that water, make that mother****er lock |
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Chop it up and bag it, then ya flood the whole block |
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With that candy, cha-cha, white lobster, ready rock |
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(Dope) |
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(Dope) |
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(Dope) |
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(Do-do-dope) |
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(I'ma teach you how to sell) |
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(I'ma teach you how to sell) |
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(I'ma teach you how to sell) |
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(I'ma teach you how to sell dope) |
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The money come fast when pushin them grams |
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You get what you can, there's no retirement plan |
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[VERSE 1:] |
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Every move that I make is a calculated step |
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Gotta be careful what you say and who you conversatin with |
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I came in the game with nada, I left with a couple of dollars |
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That's the way I wanna be remembered up in this here yola game, partner |
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See, it's 'posed to be temporarily and momentarily but I'm stubborn |
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I put everything in my alias, I don't put nothin in my government |
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Stay with a cinnamon roll extension, extra cartridge drawn |
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Ain't no retirement plan or pension, catch you slippin, run |
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I got straight A's across the board, my ghetto report card never flunked |
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They gon' have to kill me on the spot, I ain't gettin off in nobody's trunk |
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Never take my chances by ****in them up and punch |
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Scuffle and try to take his gun |
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I rather get a flesh wound 'stead of land up in attendance |
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"Throw me a stimulus package, my niggga, throw your nigga a bone" |
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That's what my OG said to me when he touched down, when he came home |
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I reached up in my pizznockets, shot him a thou-wow and a zone |
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Got a digital scale application on my iPhone |
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[VERSE 2:] |
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If you plan on goin to yolanary school, one of the first things they teach ya |
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Give your mama enough money to bury ya |
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And if you're backed up in a corner and the po-po Elroy question you |
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Never give up yo plug and tell on you or your crew |
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Some of the perks and amenities and benefits of sellin D |
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If you a ghetto celebrity you can almost get anything for free |
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Bitches gon' wanna **** ya, and niggas gon' wanna be ya |
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Haters gon' wanna pluck ya, so you better pack a (?) |
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Every swing of the bat, every snap of the ball, every lay-up (?) counts |
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I know some dudes that been gridin for years and the police still ain't never found |
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No cha-cha, no dope on 'em, you know why, cause he don't touch it |
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And he don' be braggin, flycoonin and showin off, he drive a bucket |
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We didn't bring in all this dope, you traffic patrollin coast guard |
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We don't own no planes and boats, in the ghetto we got it hard |
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I'ma keep it all the way 300, I'ma keep it all the way funky and solid |
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I got mo' partners behind them walls than I do in college |
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[VERSE 3:] |
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Ridin with a couple of bricks, and the police on yo hips? |
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Take they ass on a high speed, throw the (?) over the bridge |
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And if it ain't no water around, throw that shit up on a roof |
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That way it ain't hand to hand and they ain't got no proof |
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Always let somebody in your circuit know who you coppin your sugar from |
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Just in case you end up, wind up havin a little more dough than him |
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Cause dudes be gettin jealous and put yo head on a platter |
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Funkin lesson number seven - never outshine the master |
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In the cha-cha game, wanna know how to sell dope proper? |
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One of the things you better do is go to your local trucker store and purchase a kick do stopper |
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Or a glock or a stapler or a thumper or a pistol |
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A rifle or a Uzi for the smunkish and the goony |
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Keep yo conversations limited, snitchin is prohibited |
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Take it to the grave with ya, never say who did it |
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Biatch |
