Song | D-X-L (Hard White) - Album Version (Explicit) |
Artist | DMX |
Album | ...And Then There Was X |
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) |
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 |