D‐X‐L (Hard White) Songtext
von DMX featuring The Lox and Drag‐On

Holiday Styles
Bitch, I get you shot in the head or shot in the neck
If I ain′t getting 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, waiting to bubble
Brand-new nine and an eight in a bubble
I put 16 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 (ayyo)


Ayyo, 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 getting niggas trying to cuff the God
Play Sheek 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 talking to you
You see the pain in my eye? Nigga, the flame in my eye?
I'm trying to leave my kids some real fucking change when I die
From rapping or telling 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, 80 bricks
Break 'em down to all 20s, 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 Lox (uh)
All types of burners, even snub Glocks (uh)
Nice size techs you could carry in your sweats (uh)
Find your man dead in the trunk of a car (uh)
It′s Jada, mwah, responsible for breaking your heart (uh), uh

Creep through the streets
For some of y'all rappers, that's mighty hard
Me the security? Protecting my body? I let my shotty guard
Put chill pills in brains, bullets like Tylenol
Make niggas drowsy from the blood loss, got ′em nodding 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 dying? It's no problem, no lying
Drag′s fire, so ya hamburger beef? I french-fry 'em
Drag-On 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, 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 talking (uh-huh)
What the science behind that son? (I don′t know), a lot of easy walking
I bust shit down (uh), got down (uh), kick down (uh), shot down (uh)
Ain't tryna 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 rolling
With what you ain't ready to handle (uh)
All that′s left of your memory, is a candle (woo)
It happens quick fast nigga, to bitch ass niggas
Talking 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

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