I'ma Teach Ya How to Sell Dope

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