D-X-L (Hard White) - Album Version (Explicit) Lyrics
| Song | D-X-L (Hard White) - Album Version (Explicit) |
| Artist | DMX |
| Album | ...And Then There Was X |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Damon Blackmon & DMX & Sean Jacobs & Jason Phillips & Earl Simmons & Mel Smalls | |
| 作词 : Blackmon, Jacobs, Phillips ... | |
| 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 ****, 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 niggaz 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 | |
| Niggaz 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, **** what y'all think is cool | |
| And I hate cops, cause most y'all was dicks in school | |
| No pussy gettin niggaz 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 ****in 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 niggaz; niggaz 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 {*mwwaa*} 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 niggaz drowsy from the blood loss, got em noddin off | |
| And take casket naps, **** 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 niggaz 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 mother****ers | |
| 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 niggaz up (c'mon) | |
| And for talkin too much shit? I done ****ed niggaz 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 niggaz | |
| Talkin reckless behind your back, them kiss ass niggaz (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! | |
| 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) |
| zuo qu : Damon Blackmon DMX Sean Jacobs Jason Phillips Earl Simmons Mel Smalls | |
| zuo ci : Blackmon, Jacobs, Phillips ... | |
| 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 , 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 niggaz 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 | |
| Niggaz think they a thug, then thug to death uhhuh | |
| 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, what y' all think is cool | |
| And I hate cops, cause most y' all was dicks in school | |
| No pussy gettin niggaz 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 in 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 niggaz niggaz 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 thata 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 mwwaa 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 niggaz drowsy from the blood loss, got em noddin off | |
| And take casket naps, 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 frenchfry ' em | |
| Drag done ate your food | |
| Like I know to raise your dukes so guard your chin up | |
| Drag barrels, but shit, I spitbubble your skin up | |
| Drag scorch niggaz 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 mother ers | |
| 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 uhhuh | |
| 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 niggaz up c' mon | |
| And for talkin too much shit? I done ed niggaz up uh | |
| It can get " Dark" for real, and I think you already know that uhhuh | |
| 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 niggaz | |
| Talkin reckless behind your back, them kiss ass niggaz 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! | |
| 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 |
| zuò qǔ : Damon Blackmon DMX Sean Jacobs Jason Phillips Earl Simmons Mel Smalls | |
| zuò cí : Blackmon, Jacobs, Phillips ... | |
| 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 , 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 niggaz 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 | |
| Niggaz think they a thug, then thug to death uhhuh | |
| 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, what y' all think is cool | |
| And I hate cops, cause most y' all was dicks in school | |
| No pussy gettin niggaz 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 in 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 niggaz niggaz 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 thata 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 mwwaa 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 niggaz drowsy from the blood loss, got em noddin off | |
| And take casket naps, 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 frenchfry ' em | |
| Drag done ate your food | |
| Like I know to raise your dukes so guard your chin up | |
| Drag barrels, but shit, I spitbubble your skin up | |
| Drag scorch niggaz 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 mother ers | |
| 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 uhhuh | |
| 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 niggaz up c' mon | |
| And for talkin too much shit? I done ed niggaz up uh | |
| It can get " Dark" for real, and I think you already know that uhhuh | |
| 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 niggaz | |
| Talkin reckless behind your back, them kiss ass niggaz 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! | |
| 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 |
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