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exclusive interview with b-legit 

If u ever have a rough ride with B-Legit it’s not his fault


By Blowjob Betty, as told to Big Sly


uh look I’m just holding a small amount of D it’s really nothing just a formality and I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this interview—


hey really it’s all good here I spit it in my palm see it’s only a little look that’s not like rolling with a whole chicken in the trunk so let’s do this interview and let the world know—


ok I can respect that you’ve got a career to think of and I know it’s not easy for a young black man to be legit these days we’ll do the interview another time hey when do you think the next bus comes by here—



My first time riding with B in the 600 didn’t go so well; I ended up choking on trail dust instead of weed smoke. Thirty-one miles and one bath later I’m blowing up his cell again begging for another chance to be invited to the dance. Another chance to ride in the coach that doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight. The party won’t start until we walk in… drunk off that gin….down to check your chin. I reach B; he’s at the Holiday Inn, room 510. For some reason I can hear a train running in the background. He said he’d come get me as soon as he was done tagging the caboose. Oh, I thought, I didn’t know you bomb trains. I thought that was some Hobo Junction shit.


B-Legit and his cousins are the talk of the town in Vallejo, CA – an Orwellian yard where hogs don’t associate with pigs. “It’s times when there ain’t no callin’ the police,” B says of life in the V-town. “U have to handle shit in the street, no referees. U gotta be a hog, u can’t tuck your tail.” The hog is a mentality, a mascot and a motherfucking peon compared to B and his cousins E-40 and D-Shot – these niggas are humongorific. “We grew up like country boys; we eat good, we work hard.” Working with work proved to be too hard and not worth the risk. At some point B (who had earned the nickname B-Legit the Savage) and his fam said nay to the yay and looked for a brighter day. Things became more clear after a talent show at Grambling State where B and Forty shook some southern heads with their northern Cali mob shit. When spring rolled around, the country boys broke back to the Bay and hollered up D-Shot to make their group Most Valuable Players official. I learned the game from my uncle Saint Charles: Forty’s gospel-singing uncle put his gangsterous nephews up on how to put out a record, and from there things took flight. Forty’s sister Suga T completed the family affair that the boys had started, and click-clack, that’s the sound of The Click forming.


B pulls up smoking like a broke-down Coupe DeVille. He gets out and opens the door for me. I tell him that better not be a revolving door, because I refuse to go in and out like that again. He tells me he has a recording session with some of his folks. Fine. Where are we going – Live Oak Studio? The Mob Shop?


Nope. Detroit. Then it’s down south. Might bail to Miami, nine hoes deep / Red Bull in my bag, hoes get no sleep. B hasn’t made a commercially successful album – neither ‘96’s The Hemp Museum or last year’s Hempin’ Ain’t Easy caught fire with the public – but he hasn’t missed a beat, making a mint appearing on compilations, not to mention on every release that’s stamped with the hog that’s grubbing on dollars. For almost a decade Sick Wid It Records has birthed records like welfare mommies do kids, prompting Jive Records to sign the label to a distribution deal back in ’95. The Click paved the way for hopefuls like Celly Cel and The Mossie to come on board, while the core remained intact. Everybody has at least two solo albums under their big belts, but only Forty has gotten large enough to pop his belt buckle like Oakland players pop their collars.


We roll down the freeway towards the airport. I’m deep into my shitty attitude. How dare he brush off my interview for a flight to West Bumblefuck just so he can put his layback, nasal drawl down on Education to the Principalities of the Gameulation or some shit. He tells me he’s on a duet with *********. I gasp in horror. He’s not doing mob shit, I protest. Why do you want to fuck with him (when you could be fucking with me)? “If we all tried to do the same thing, there wouldn’t be enuff room for all of us,” B shoots back. There can’t be B-Legit clones, although he says he’s found ilLegitimate children of his style in both Detroit and Kansas City. “If u try to sound like someone else,” he offers as a word to the wise, “when their career’s over, your career’s over.”


So who’s career will end first: Britney Spears, Backstreet Boys or N’Sync? It’s hard to say, but right now Jive is milking them like the titties on a cow for all they got, and B feels that The Click will go independent after releasing their new album, Money and Muscle. “U don’t wanna have all your peas in one pot,” B reasons. The Click is coming, please don’t ever doubt it. B has never been one to hold out on his fans; it’s just if the business isn’t right, it has to be put on freeze. “We ain’t in this to get ran over,” B states, swerving to avoid a hog crossing the road  (presumably to get to the other side). “We wanna see platinum response,” he affirms. And I want to see platinum around my neck. When is he going to spend some money on me? I wondered, taking a bite of my 7-11 hot dog. He could have at least gotten me some onions on it.


B’s signature slogan is “Pay me for what I do.” Unlike Britney, B-Legit doesn’t sing songs about things he’s never done, or emotions he’s too young to feel. “I’m not 100% of everything that I talk about,” B clarifies, “but I done been around it. Ain’t nobody givin’ it to u 100% raw, cuz they’d be turnin’ themselves in; [they’d have] federal agents at they door. If he ‘killer’ this and ‘killer’ that, why he ain’t dead or in jail?” Because he’s fake. He’s not the real deal like you, B. Real bad boys move in silence. Have you been a bad boy, B-Legit? Tell me something good.


“I’m not gonna tell on myself. What kind of fool would do that?”


Maybe I’m just a fool for you, B-Legit. But I know we could never be together. And not just because I’ve “got a lotta competition” with your momma. I’m not going to blow your Saint Bernard. You’re a user, B-Legit. If I admit I’m a groupie I’ll get dogged like Snoopy.


B breaks it down to ease my mind. “Groupies are just fans that want a shot at the title.” (I do). “It’s how u handle the groupies [that counts]. U can take the groupies in and take advantage of them, or u can do something like make them personal street promoters. When u have new product, u shoot it to them – outta state, overseas… u want a network of those groupies. Who would u rather pay to do the job for u: someone who’s 100% down with u or someone who’s just goin’ thru the motions?” I’ll go through the motions for you, B. He looks at me straight on.


“You gonna represent me cuz u down with it, and I’ma make u feel like u part of it.”


Oh, B, you say the sweetest things. Pass me one of those sex packets.

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