Texty: B-Legit. The Hemp Museum. D-boy Blues.

(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

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")

[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]