D-X-L (Hard White)

[Verse 1: Styles P] 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 tryna be the nigga that's gonna look at the sky Ask God why I'm broke, bitch, I'm cookin' 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 your 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 [Verse 2: Sheek Louch] Yo, ayo, ayo, 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 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, that'll 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 Why I don't 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 tryna 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? [Verse 3: Jadakiss] 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 comin', 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 LOX (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 [Verse 4: Drag-On] 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, tell from my auras, no morals Raised in the wrong era, with no guidance So you dyin'? It's no problem, no lyin' Drag's fire; so your 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, the shit I spit'll 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 [Verse 5: DMX] 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 B but there's a lot of greasy talkin' (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 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 (Come on) 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 role you ain't ready to handle 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 [Outro: Styles P & Sheek Louch] 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