E-40 - I'ma Teach Ya How to Sell Dope lyrics

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

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

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 benefit's 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

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