Boldy James 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: niggas 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', niggas caught bodies
f*cking with me and my mans, then I lost Swali(?)
He never did shit to nobody but them boys shot him
We hold court in the street, how we resolve problems
I practice what I preach, you niggas 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 niggas can't f*ck 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 killer 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 drugs, 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]