Drug Trade Smoke DZA & Flying Lotus (Ft. Black Thought)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Drug Trade" by Smoke DZA & Flying Lotus (Ft. Black Thought). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Intro: Smoke DZA]
Yeah, uh
RFC, really
My son Viyal asked me if had my tap dance shoes on
I said I'm motherfuckin' Gregory Hines, nigga
Yeah, uh
[Verse 1: Smoke DZA]
Divvy the box then take it upstate
I had the product and in a week the numbers fluctuate
A couple dollars, make sure you holler when your bucks straight
My little guala dropped out of college, chose a drug trade
Filled up his wallet, couldn't acknowledge how he'd upgraded
This that uptown flow that got us hatin', right
It took reach to reach to this point
The numbers so good, made six off each joint, right
You search for deals, I broker with fawns
Locals can't flow with the don
Talkin' 'cross the pond, not Boca Raton
Foreign cars, I don't got a complex, arm stretched
.40 cal' laid on the armrest for conflict
Bustdown Cubans' my prom set, the charm Lex
Pushed the button playin' with Congress, the wrong bet
I bomb threat niggas, junior hustlers
I armpit, give 'em work, put 'em through the gauntlet
Yeah, uh
RFC, really
My son Viyal asked me if had my tap dance shoes on
I said I'm motherfuckin' Gregory Hines, nigga
Yeah, uh
[Verse 1: Smoke DZA]
Divvy the box then take it upstate
I had the product and in a week the numbers fluctuate
A couple dollars, make sure you holler when your bucks straight
My little guala dropped out of college, chose a drug trade
Filled up his wallet, couldn't acknowledge how he'd upgraded
This that uptown flow that got us hatin', right
It took reach to reach to this point
The numbers so good, made six off each joint, right
You search for deals, I broker with fawns
Locals can't flow with the don
Talkin' 'cross the pond, not Boca Raton
Foreign cars, I don't got a complex, arm stretched
.40 cal' laid on the armrest for conflict
Bustdown Cubans' my prom set, the charm Lex
Pushed the button playin' with Congress, the wrong bet
I bomb threat niggas, junior hustlers
I armpit, give 'em work, put 'em through the gauntlet
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