Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song D-X-L (Hard White) , by - DMX. Release date: 20.12.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
D-X-L (Hard White) |
| Holiday Styles |
| Bitch, I get you shot in the head or shot in the neck |
| If I ain’t gettin proper respect |
| I don’t care if you rap, I still spit in your grill |
| I don’t give a fuck, never have, never will |
| If it ain’t on your hip, then you’re lookin to die |
| I ain’t tryin to be the nigga that’s gonna look at the sky |
| Ask God why I’m broke, bitch, I’m cooking the pie |
| We all gon' die, sooner or later, matter of time |
| My niggas sell crack, with a package of dimes |
| Hundred or more, in front of the store, waitin to bubble |
| Brand new nine, and an eight in a bubble |
| I put sixteen above ya neck, I love my set |
| Niggas think they a thug, then thug to death (uh-huh) |
| Cause the P gonna squeeze 'til no slugs is left (what) |
| You know I’m good with a hundred of 'dro, gun and an O |
| You think your shit butter? |
| Hop in front of this toast |
| Yo, aiyyo, aiyyo |
| I say what I want, fuck what y’all think is cool |
| And I hate cops, cause most y’all was dicks in school |
| No pussy gettin niggas tryin to cuff the God |
| Play Sheik out in the yard, but that shit too hard |
| My dough too long, nowadays, my flow too strong |
| What y’all make in a year, I kick that for a song |
| Check my car, I don’t care, I don’t play fair |
| Keep some shit in the stash box, then get me the chair |
| And it don’t buck shot and the blast is hard to hear |
| I’m a true thug nigga, bring it straight to your crew |
| Small yell when I rap, I’m basically talkin to you |
| You see the pain in my eye? |
| Nigga, the flame in my eye? |
| I’m tryin to leave my kids some real fuckin change when I die |
| From rappin or tellin some cat to reach for the sky |
| I’m that hunt down nigga, with the four pound nigga |
| Bounty hunt your whole crew til my bullets go through, WHAT? |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo |
| All I need is a big gun and a Coupe that’s crazy quick |
| A nice house with five rooms, maybe six |
| A town where money is coming, eighty bricks |
| Break 'em down to all twenties, is a crazy flip |
| Bet you never even felt the heat |
| Til I put the M1 next to your waves and melt the grease |
| Streets help niggas; |
| niggas don’t help the streets |
| Y’all use beats for help; |
| we help the beats |
| Who want it with me? |
| Who want it with Sheek? |
| Who want it with P? |
| If I say so myself, it’s a wonderful three |
| Be in the hood with all your jewels in the glovebox |
| Same niggas that-a rob you love L.O.X. |
| (uh) |
| All types of burners, even snub Glocks (uh) |
| Nice size tecs you could carry in your sweats (uh) |
| Find your man dead in the trunk of a car (uh) |
| It’s Jada responsible for breakin your heart (uh) |
| Uh |
| Creep through the streets |
| For some of y’all rappers, that’s mighty hard |
| Me the Security? |
| Protectin my body? |
| I let my shotty guard |
| Put chill pills in brains, bullets like Tylenol |
| Make niggas drowsy from the blood loss, got em noddin off |
| And take casket naps, fuck that |
| You shoulda never let this bastard rap |
| All I know is cold winter, hot slugs through your snorkel |
| No parents, tale from my horror’s no morals |
| Raised in the wrong era, with no guidance |
| So you dyin? |
| It’s no problem, no lyin |
| Drag’s fire; |
| so ya hamburger beef? |
| I french-fry 'em |
| Drag done ate your food |
| Like I know to raise your dukes so guard your chin up |
| Drag barrels, but shit, I spit-bubble your skin up |
| Drag scorch niggas for dinner but season 'em well |
| I don’t brag I let the streets tell |
| Po'-po' now you see he fell |
| Uh, uh, now you motherfuckers |
| Know what my name means when you hear it in the streets (uh) |
| Y’all bitches fear it cause you weak |
| You wanna hear it? |
| I make it speak (WHAT?) |
| You ain’t ever bust a gun, but there’s a lot of greasy talkin (uh-huh) |
| What the science behind that son? |
| (I don’t know) |
| A lot of easy walkin |
| I bust shit down (uh) got down (uh) kick down (uh) shot down (uh) |
| Ain’t tryin to talk about what I got now, but I got now (WHAT?) |
| I ain’t never sold a brick, I done stuck niggas up (c'mon) |
| And for talkin too much shit? |
| I done fucked niggas up (uh) |
| It can get «Dark» for real, and I think you already know that (uh-huh) |
| Well think about it with the brick in your hand before you throw that |
| Now don’t act, cause actin might get you rollin |
| With what you ain’t ready to handle (UHH) |
| All that’s left of your memory, is a candle (WOO!) |
| It happens quick fast nigga, to bitch ass niggas |
| Talkin reckless behind your back, them kiss ass niggas (uh) |
| From the rap shit to the street shit, I keep shit tight |
| Let them cats spit that weak shit (What!) |
| I’m DOG FOR LIFE! |
| NIGGA! |
| (Sheek) |
| They gon' need extra guns and extra blocks |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra jails and extra cops |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra pits and extra Glocks |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra chains and extra watches |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra guns and extra blocks |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra jails and extra cops |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra pits and extra Glocks |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |
| They gon' need extra chains and extra watches |
| (They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde) |