D-boy Blues Lyrics - Hemp Museum - B-legit

(feat. Levitti) 

[B-Legit:] 

Aight, check game playboy 

It's like this here 

In this motherfuckin game mayne 

Shit ain't always gon' be gravy playboy, see 

Thangs ain't always gon' go your way, y'knahmsayin? 

You better take the bitter with the sweet 

If you want to survive in these motherfuckin streets 

But peep it doe 

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I got kind in my mackin, I started to stackin in the Valle' 

You see I sent that bitch named, Sally 

To the track with a big fat sack of the crack 

And told her don't come back, until she did that 

Cause shit was gettin funky out in the Bay 

You couldn't find a good plug, from here to L.A. 

Cause niggaz get sheisty and sell you bunk 

And no scratch, but these gats, gon' equal funk 

You cain't be no punk, get slabbed in yo' truck 

And roll around town with the beat on pump 

Have yo' eardrums leakin from the beatin of the series 2's 

Bitch... I got the D-Boy Blues 

[Chorus x2: B-Legit] 

The blues bitch, the blues hoe 

I know some niggaz in my crew, that done had 'em befo' 

I got the blues bitch, the blues hoe 

("Stretched, I guess I got the D-Boy Blues") 

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[B-Legit:] 

My family get this call from this fool 

Who said he knew this fool, said this fool was cool 

Said that his daddy was a mason with a major supply 

And I can get some thangs as long as I buy 5 

I really wasn't trippin cause I had the cash 

But if it goes down funky I'ma smoke yo' ass 

Hung up the phone and I was up, put the mill' on the tuck 

The speakerbox in the Chevy truck 

I'm at the spot a hundred G's, and my strap 

I done beeped this fool twice and he ain't call back 

Now where he at, schemin on Legit the Savage 

Wanna wrap me up and ride away with the cabbage 

Everybody startin to look like the FBI 

I'm hella paranoid dude, but now I'm hella high 

It ain't fly for this nigga from the H-I-double-L 

With no motherfuckin dope to sell 

[Chorus] 

[B-Legit:] 

I spend my last, ephedrine and some pirate's glass 

I got my mask, whippin up some dope fast 

Or a little {?} 57 is a rag 

Hydronic ash shit is known to keep the fiends blastin 

Mix together, cook it up on a Bronson burner 

Cause that fire have you higher than that Ike Turner 

Hours later, it's lookin good for this player 

Oil formed and I just got my third layer 

And if it's cool, yo' nigga yellin fuck the collar 

Fo' times my mail, with the sales an hour 

Jackin off my cash, buyin up hella toys 

And all I'm fuckin with is rich-ass white boys 

Took him out the glass but he lookin dirty white 

Washed him off with the acetone to get him right 

Who got a light, and when yo' nigga lit the flame 

He'll bam-boof with the roof, and e'rythang 

Am I to blame, fo' niggaz havin bad luck? 

Too much dirt, is that stoppin me from comin up? 

Well I don't know, but I'm po' and I need a few 

Got yo' boy stressed out, I got the D-Boy Blues 

[Chorus]