The Plug - I Sold Dope All My Life lyrics

[Intro/Outro] I sold dope all my life With the deuces dropping Sixty-twos in pots Getting to the profits Solid to a liquid, liquid to a solid What you know about it? I sold dope all my life Yeah, yeah, now what's a hundred thousand? [Verse 1] Here we go again: n***as hearts droppin' To their feet. On the strength, I'm a hard-rocker From the D', blowing gans, sipping hard vodka Selling weed, throwing my mag in your broad's locker Went on the street, going ham with them armed robbers Doing me, on the crab(?) with my dog, Papi Uncle Keith was the man with the false-bottom WD-40 cans full of narcotics Fronted me a couple grams, then I start copping From a three to a half when I saw a profit Put a G in my grandmother's hall closet Running the streets with my fam', n***as caught bodies f**ing with me and my mans, then I lost Swali(?) He never did sh** to nobody but them boys shot him We hold court in the street, how we resolve problems I practice what I preach, you n***as false prophets [Refrain] Bold and cold, living like I don't know wrong from right And despite, nig' I sold dope all my life On the coldest of nights Rolling stoned on my bike In my Nik's, nig' I sold dope all my life Blow your nose, hit the pipe Poke a ho, take a flight To new heights, nig' I sold dope all my life Boldy on with the white On the phone at the light Make a right, nig I sold dope all my life Bold', stay on your grind When you cut dimes No eights or two-for-nines For them nick's Tote tre tools or nines With rubber grips No safety on mines What it is 48219 Is my zip code Whole cake's 215 For the big one The four weigh 1-25 Of that yeah-buddy, no shake, 2.9 For the spliff pop you gon' pay 1.5 The zips go for 8 and sometimes 9 For the happy taffy Bold' will take four one time The next time my phone ring, I'm gone on five Them quarters 250, for you 225 Them (?) 150, for you 125 'luminum, boil in 'em 16s for 75 And I'm charging 50 for .7, my guy It's Concreatures [Refrain] [Verse 3] Bruh, these n***as can't f** with me Like I can't have company Comf'tably Feet kicked up under the money tree No more reggie seed Nickle, dimes, and quarters We rolling up them k**er grams Little Shop of Horrors Concrete, Hill block Detroiter Standing over the kitchen sink With a hot pot of boiling water Smoking a swisher sweet Finna drop a quarter soft for The deuce and a quarter but I can knock a quarter off it Went from a deuce and a quarter To a four and a half And my deuce and a quarter With a 'bow and a half Half the time drunk Pouring up a cup of 'yak On the run, flats(?) cuz rolling up a loudpack If I ain't in the hood, tell me where the hood at I'm on my block selling d**, posted like a thumbtack Tactical command, no taking a stand And ain't no weak links in my chain of command It's Concreatures Bold and cold, living like I don't know wrong from right And despite, nig' [Intro/Outro]