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sellin' d.o.p.e. (radio edit) - dead prez lyrics

dead prez – “sellin’ d.o.p.e.”
[produced by dead prez]

[intro: stic.man]
drugs oppress the people everyday

[hook 1: stic.man]
selling dope, serving weed. we had
to hustle to hustle just to eat

[verse 1: stic.man]
ain’t no hope in the streets—you broke, you sell dope
all my young n-ggas outside hustling c0ke
know the drama. if you ain’t selling crack, then it’s ganja
i’ve been through it, dun, hitting n-ggas two for one
pulling guns out and busting my sh-ts too. what?
i ain’t give a f-ck. i used to get a rush when i bust mine
bagging up my nickels and dime, going through
difficult time, writing my life’s story in rhyme
but when i look at all the n-ggas they hit with mad time
in proportion to the big kingpins, it don’t fit
you could get caught with barely a half a slab
and the judge sentence you like you ran the ave
i ain’t planned to get rich from selling that sh-t—it was survival
my game plan was not to get knocked by 5-0
but who am i? just a young n-gga caught in the mix
and if this weed don’t sell, i’ma cop me a brick

[hook 1: stic.man]
selling dope, serving weed. we had
to hustle to hustle just to eat
selling dope, serving weed (selling weed). we had
to hustle just to eat

[verse 2: m-1]
it’s been a minute since i’ve been in the game. some years
back, i held crack—i couldn’t say the same thing
ask my n-gga bang double in raleigh. we was trouble
got the fiends’ spot bubbling hot. we wouldn’t never make
a lot—i mean, not like scarface or nino brown
or george bush. no matter what you pushed
it was politics and camera tricks, very deceptive
criminalize us and fooling the collective
for the most part, we don’t own no boats and planes
we just cop it from papi, bag it in the cellophane
it’s a family thing. you got to hustle all night
yo, i seen fiends losing their brains for hard white
ask my aunt and my brother and my stressed-out mother
how realistic it gets. it’s s-d-stic
statistics show it’s sick how we living
the one thing bigger than dope games is prisons
one million n-ggas inside. over three
million is tied, but the president lied because
the white house is the rock house, uncle sam the pusherman
this is for my people on the island

[hook 1: stic.man]
selling dope, serving weed. we had
to hustle to hustle just to eat
selling dope, serving weed (selling weed). we had
to hustle just to eat

[bridge 1: stic.man]
but what we gonna do when we’re caught up
and have to face responsibility? (this that ghetto sh-t. this that ghetto sh-t)
what we gonna do when we’re caught up
and have to face responsibility? (this that ghetto sh-t. this that ghetto sh-t)

[hook 1 (overlapped with hook 2): stic.man] (x2)
selling dope, serving weed. we had
to hustle to hustle just to eat
selling dope, serving weed (selling weed). we had
to hustle just to eat

[hook 2 (overlapped with hook 1): stic.man] (x2)
out on the block, white t-shirt, army fatigues
n-ggas hold crack in their mouth, watching for d’s
selling dope, you know how it beez trying to get
that government cheese and the d’s yell freeze

[outro: stic.man]
tallah-ssee up in this b-tch. my n-gga maintain, n.i.m.r.o.d.. my n-gga percent, abu. my brother troy locked up. huey newton, rest in peace. south raleigh, california, brooklyn, dean street. dead prez ’98. get it straight. and all my family and my whole army. get it straight

- dead prez lyrics

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