J-Stalin – D-boy Blues 2010 Lyrics

[Verse 1]
No diploma, the corner was my high school
Born on the curb something that the ghetto made
Jump off the coast selling dope in the 7th grade
Where I’m from you wasn’t shit if you wasn’t paid
Watched the cocaine spread like AIDS
Hustlers trying to survive the task force raids
Playing with AKs trying to get out the projects
Nigga get outta line they pop him like some latex
Practice counting money like a nigga practice safe sex
Ever since I was introduced to ice cream
Always kept a choppa or connect in the triple-beam
Pulling all nighters I never was into chasing dreams
Hit a nigga up like the did my little cousin R[?]
Captain of the cream cheese, grinding under the full moon
These niggas snitching that’s why they faker than cartoons
I put them in the air like a f*cking helium balloon

The whips is new, the banger is used
Keep stacking on them I don’t catch a D-boy blues
Keep dumping on they ass till the clips is gone
Hold down my set nigga rep my home [X2]

[Verse 2]
Why the first of the month my favorite time of the year?
Sitting on the fiend porch till the mail get here
I hustle hard, you bitch niggas pathetic
Mad cause I’m collecting ten-thousand in credit sale
I’m just like Gregory I get it like my p[?]
For years I wasn’t happy growing up in the projects
Nigga my money used to be little like an insect

I turned into a Racist only cause I love this green
Graduated from digitals no more triple-beams
Those were the finer things that came from [?]
You don’t now my lifestyle then f*ck you nigga sue me then
You wanna f*ck with the game we’ll chop you with it
Go against the flame motherf*cker you will never win
R.I.P Baby Chains, R.I.P Lil’ Twin
Ima keep it stacking till I see hopefully yall again
Throw your asses back in as soon as you get out the pen


[Verse 3]
I’ve seen em go, selling grams to collecting cans
I just pray to God that he help me be a better man
Cause when it come to the game nigga I overstand
Only thing on my mind be them rubber bands
Learn how to cook grams, coke taste like candy yams
Little nigga moving with a 30[?]
Told the man he could front the whole brick
If worse come to worse nigga I ain’t bringing back shit
This is for a broke bitch, class, and sensation
I could show you how to stack money in a depression
Live Wire Records ain’t going through a recession
Counting my blessings before I hit the street tonight
Hoping I don’t ever end up on a crack pipe
Stuck in the game nigga still selling all white
Cypress Village where I learned the whips soft
And 10th Street niggas where I got it all off


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *