15. Let Me Fly (1998)

“Let Me Fly” is a raw, soul-bearing meditation on freedom, purpose, and mortality. Produced by Younglord and Dame Grease, the track blends somber instrumentation with an urgent tone, offering DMX a platform to speak directly from the depths of his conflicted spirit. The hook is a plea—“Either let me fly or give me death”—not just for release, but for meaning.

Across three verses, DMX navigates personal demons, spiritual struggle, and his rejection of confinement, whether physical or psychological. His verses move between confessions of pain and declarations of resilience, shifting from poetic introspection to pointed defiance. There’s no mask here; just a man demanding to be heard, understood, and allowed to live on his own terms.

The beat is minimal but heavy, making space for the weight of each lyric. With lines that cut deep and a tone that never wavers, “Let Me Fly” remains one of DMX’s most stirring declarations of self.

14.Get It On The Floor (2003)

“Get It On the Floor” is a relentless burst of energy, built for packed clubs and loud systems. Produced by Swizz Beatz, the track thrives on high-octane drums and a chaotic rhythm that matches DMX’s unfiltered delivery. From the jump, the beat grabs hold—loud, confrontational, and impossible to ignore.

DMX wastes no time, launching into verses that bring the aggression of the streets into the heart of the party. There’s no pause for subtlety; his presence is dominant, his commands clear: move, rage, release. Swizz Beatz interjects throughout, adding fuel to the fire and keeping the energy at a constant boil.

Lyrically, the focus is on adrenaline, confrontation, and raw movement. Every line is delivered like a challenge, meant to stir a crowd rather than sit in reflection. Still, there’s intention beneath the surface—DMX doesn’t just want bodies moving, he wants his voice to echo through the room. With its pounding tempo and aggressive spirit, “Get It On the Floor” represents a full-throttle moment in DMX’s catalog, engineered for volume and motion.

13. Flesh Of My Flesh, Blood Of My Blood (1998)

The title track from DMX’s second album is a fierce declaration of loyalty, pain, and perseverance. Over a heavy, menacing beat from Swizz Beatz, he delivers a barrage of verses filled with raw emotion and street-grounded conviction. The chorus acts like a call to arms, echoing the unity and shared struggle between DMX and his circle.

Lyrically, the track moves through snapshots of betrayal, violence, and survival. DMX balances rage with reflection, shifting from aggressive warnings to somber admissions. His delivery stays intense and grounded, driven by a sense of urgency that feels deeply personal. Lines about fallen friends, industry pressure, and internal conflict are delivered without filter or hesitation.

The track also speaks to work ethic and self-awareness. References to releasing music back-to-back, staying active, and pushing forward in the face of adversity underline the discipline behind the persona. Each verse circles back to the core themes: trust, blood ties, and resilience in the face of chaos.

“Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood” holds its power in its directness—unpolished, unflinching, and committed to telling the truth as DMX lived it.

12. Lord Give Me A Sign (2006)

There’s no mask in this one—just a man speaking directly to God. “Lord Give Me a Sign” strips away bravado, profanity, and posturing to reveal DMX in full spiritual confrontation. The beat, produced by Scott Storch, is simple but solemn: muted drums, ambient piano, and a steady rhythm that leaves space for DMX’s voice to carry the weight.

From the first bar, the message is clear—this is a prayer, not a performance. DMX speaks from a place of exhaustion and resilience, pleading for clarity, strength, and purpose. Lines like “I need You to give me strength I need to carry on” don’t come wrapped in metaphor. They hit because they’re direct, and because he means them.

His delivery doesn’t soften, even in vulnerability. It’s raw, firm, and unwavering—just as full of urgency as his hardest verses. But here, the fight is internal: faith versus fear, pain versus purpose. The imagery in the video—wandering a desert alone, surrounded by devastation—mirrors the emotional terrain of the track.

“Lord Give Me a Sign” is one of DMX’s clearest moments of spiritual clarity. It’s not about redemption earned, but redemption still sought, and that search makes it a standout in his catalog.

11. Damien (1998)

“Damien” plays like a cautionary parable buried deep inside a horror movie. The beat crawls forward, unsettling and cold, while DMX splits himself into two voices—his own, and that of a manipulative, smooth-talking figure named Damien. It starts with promises: loyalty, power, revenge. But by the second verse, those offers turn into commands, and the cost becomes blood.

This track is psychological theater. The back-and-forth between DMX and Damien builds a sense of tension that never lets up. At first, Damien seems like an ally, offering shortcuts and solutions. But the further the track goes, the more control he takes. The framing is simple but layered: a man trying to do right, pulled toward decisions he knows are wrong, not by weakness, but by the illusion of necessity.

DMX’s vocal performance shifts subtly between the two characters, never using effects, just tone and rhythm. That contrast alone gives Damien a distinct presence, almost as if he’s whispering in your own ear. The production stays minimal, amplifying the paranoia with ominous piano stabs and creeping drums that echo like footsteps in an empty room.

“Damien” stalks morality. There’s no redemption arc, no moment of clarity. Just a man hearing the devil’s pitch and not quite slamming the door. It’s one of DMX’s most eerie and unforgettable pieces, a lyrical confession with no safe ending. Every word lingers like a shadow.

10. Who We Be (2001)

“Who We Be” is one of the most emotionally grounded and lyrically urgent songs in DMX’s catalog. Stripped of bravado, it’s a blunt roll call of trauma, struggle, and survival, presented with a cadence that feels like a heartbeat under pressure. DMX uses repetition not just as a stylistic device, but as a form of testimony—each phrase stacking on the next, hammering home the daily weight of living under systemic oppression.

The production is restrained and mournful, with a looped piano motif and thudding drums that serve as a stark frame for the lyrics. There’s no distraction from the message. It’s a sobering inventory: the streets, the pain, the judgment, the violence, the injustice. Each line is delivered with raw clarity, as if reading aloud from a ledger of generational burdens. The verses don’t just describe hardship—they recreate the rhythm of enduring it.

DMX doesn’t position himself above the people he represents; he raps with them, voicing what many live but few are heard saying. There’s defiance here, but also fatigue. And in that exhaustion, there’s something profound: a kind of spiritual resilience that doesn’t rely on hope, but on honesty.

The song’s structure is deceptively simple, but the cumulative effect is heavy. “Who We Be” is not an anthem in the traditional sense—it’s a record of existence. Not flashy, not theatrical. Just unflinching. And that’s what makes it special.

9. How’s It Goin’ Down (1998)

“How’s It Goin’ Down” reveals a side of DMX that rarely took the spotlight: vulnerable, reflective, and quietly conflicted. While much of It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot is steeped in fury and intensity, this track offers a different kind of edge—one grounded in emotional tension rather than aggression. With Faith Evans providing soft, soulful backing vocals, DMX steps into the role of a man caught between desire and resignation.

The beat, built around a mellow sample from the Headhunters’ “God Make Me Funky,” moves with a late-summer smoothness. Lush electric keys and deep bass give the track a gentle sway, but DMX’s verses keep it grounded in street reality. The story unfolds through conversations and confrontations, mostly centered on a woman named Tenika, whose complicated home life blurs the lines between love, loyalty, and survival.

DMX’s delivery here is subdued but deliberate. He lowers his tone, weaving through verses with a sense of intimacy that contrasts with the boldness found elsewhere on the album. There’s no pretense—just honesty. The chorus, with its lingering question, “How’s it goin’ down?”, becomes more than simply a hook; it’s a genuine plea for clarity in a situation full of grey areas.

The song’s emotional core and lived-in storytelling earned it a lasting resonance. It wasn’t just about a fleeting affair—it was about the moments in between, where uncertainty, temptation, and truth collide. A slow burn, but unforgettable.

8. Where The Hood At? (2003)

“Where the Hood At?” is a chest-out declaration from DMX, delivered over a thick, blues-inflected beat that rattles with urgency. Built around a sample of Albert King’s “I’ll Play the Blues for You,” the track blends guitar stabs and drum thumps with DMX’s unmistakable growl to produce an anthem rooted in street loyalty and challenge.

The hook cuts straight to the point. It’s not just a chant—it’s a roll call. DMX lays it down with conviction, using the title phrase like a flare shot into the sky. This is a call to presence, to authenticity, and to grit. From the jump, he moves with force, zeroing in on liars, imitators, and anyone not built for the reality he comes from.

There’s immediacy in how the track unfolds, as if the beat and words erupted in the same moment. According to stories from the studio, DMX heard the instrumental and started belting the chorus without hesitation. That instinct carries through in the final recording—it sounds lived-in, not manufactured.

But the track also carries a harsh contradiction. Within its first verse, it includes homophobic language that mars the energy and edge with exclusion and hostility. That element lingers, complicating the song’s legacy. Still, there’s no denying its imprint. “Where the Hood At?” encapsulates the rawness that defined DMX’s presence—a voice that didn’t flinch, a rhythm built for motion, and a spirit grounded in the neighborhood that raised him.

7. Stop Being Greedy (1998)

“Stop Being Greedy” is confrontation in its purest form. Over a chilling loop from Diana Ross’s “My Hero Is a Gun,” DMX delivers a harsh lesson in morality—a street sermon soaked in paranoia, survival, and thinly-veiled threats. The beat from Dame Grease and PK is stripped and dark, built around sinister organ lines and drums that feel like footsteps approaching slowly. It’s the kind of production that amplifies tension rather than offering release.

DMX splits his own personality across the verses. One moment, his voice is cold and matter-of-fact—a man who’s seen enough chaos and would rather avoid it. The next second, he drops into his signature growl, turning the track into a snarling warning. It’s back-and-forth, calculated and raw, playing both sides of the coin between restraint and violent retribution.

The hook channels that Robin Hood ethos, laying down an ultimatum about greed and survival. There’s no pretension here—just straight talk about the rules of the street and what happens when those rules are broken. The verses flip between scenes of calm calculation and tight-lipped menace, laying out DMX’s worldview with no attempt to dress it up.

“Stop Being Greedy” sits as one of the defining moments on It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot because it feels like a full embodiment of the duality DMX carried with him. The voice that warned, and the voice that bit. Simple, sharp, and delivered without hesitation.

6. What’s My Name? (1999)

“What’s My Name?” is a full-throttle declaration. From the moment it begins, the track pushes forward with intensity, led by DMX’s voice in full command. His delivery is unrelenting—short bursts of aggression stacked with purpose, each line delivered with the kind of weight that demands attention.

The production, handled by Self with co-production from Irv Gotti, leans on hard-edged piano stabs and booming drums. The instrumental is raw and stripped-down, giving space for DMX to dominate. His presence on the mic never wavers; the rhythm of his bars hits in steady, forceful patterns, laced with warnings, commands, and street sermonizing.

The chorus operates more like a signal flare than a hook—direct and forceful, it announces identity with no ambiguity. It’s loud, clear, and designed to resonate in the chest as much as the ear. That repetition doesn’t just emphasize his name—it makes it feel immovable.

Throughout the verses, the tone stays sharp. DMX issues threats and affirmations with equal ferocity, never stepping back from the track’s confrontational energy. There’s no storytelling here, no side path into reflection. The repetition anchors his identity, reinforcing a name delivered like a command.

The song’s structure is tight and efficient, building momentum without pause. Its energy remains locked from beginning to end, powered entirely by conviction. The video reinforces that stance—packed with movement, faces, and recognition, it mirrors the song’s mood of total assertion.

“What’s My Name?” doesn’t shift gears or invite interpretation. It speaks plainly, shouts loudly, and delivers with precision. Everything about it is designed to hit hard and stay lodged in memory.

5. Get At Me Dog (1998)

“Get At Me Dog” announces itself with no intention of asking for space—it takes it. As DMX’s first major-label single, the track operates like a siren blast, loud and unfiltered, built to demand attention. There’s no posturing here, just straight-ahead confrontation delivered with total conviction. From its stripped-down menace to its snarling vocals, the track defines the energy that would follow him throughout his career.

Produced by Dame Grease and PK, the instrumental loops a warped sample from B.T. Express into something grimy and restless. The beat doesn’t dazzle with polish—it drags you into the shadows. It’s the kind of backdrop that doesn’t invite a performance so much as require domination. DMX rises to that demand with barked verses that come in flurries, worded like threats but shaped with precision.

There’s no wasted motion. Each line is delivered with clipped urgency, as if even hesitation would compromise the whole mission. The hook hits like a rallying cry, echoing across cracked concrete and packed clubs alike. Every second sounds like it’s pressing against the edge of control, and that volatility is the point—it’s not for decoration, it’s the heartbeat of the song.

“Get At Me Dog” helped a whole shift in tone. It signals the arrival of someone uninterested in soft landings or radio polish. The roughness is the message. In a moment where flash and polish dominated much of the airwaves, this felt like a door being kicked open. Nothing about it plays safe. The structure, the vocal tone, even the mix itself—all of it leans into abrasion. That’s the appeal. The track leaves behind polish for purpose, and in doing so, it doesn’t just introduce a voice—it establishes a force.

4. X Gon’ Give It to Ya (2003)

Built like a jolt of electricity, “X Gon’ Give It to Ya” charges through with high-impact force and relentless pacing. Released in 2003 as part of the Cradle 2 the Grave soundtrack, the track exemplifies DMX’s signature intensity—delivered without restraint and designed to make an immediate impression. With pounding production from Shatek, the song creates a full-body rush, turning every second into a challenge, a warning, and a celebration of dominance.

From the first horn blast, the tone is set: bold, commanding, impossible to ignore. The rhythm pounds with industrial precision, and DMX rides it with sharp-edged vocal delivery. The performance doesn’t waver—it barrels forward with conviction, each bar landing like a shot fired. There’s no room for hesitation. This is DMX in pure motion, directing the energy outward with confrontational focus.

The hook is engineered to ignite crowds. Loud, declarative, and delivered with barked confidence, it pulses with urgency. Every phrase is paced like a threat that doubles as a promise. The tension in the track isn’t chaotic—it’s coordinated, built for impact whether in an arena, a gym, or a street-level speaker system.

This track’s reach has grown well beyond its original release. Its role in film, sports arenas, and countless pop culture moments has kept it circulating as a go-to anthem for defiance and high-stakes adrenaline. Its endurance speaks to the precision of its construction and the sheer force of its delivery.

“X Gon’ Give It to Ya” doesn’t lean on subtlety or complexity—it relies on power. It delivers that power with full clarity, never diluting its purpose. A statement track in every sense, it’s one of DMX’s most electrifying performances, locked in step with a beat that never lets up.

3. Party Up (Up In Here) (1999)

With “Party Up,” DMX delivered a thunderous crowd-mover built for full-volume chaos. Released in 1999 from his third studio album …And Then There Was X, the track barrels forward with relentless momentum, powered by the wild chemistry between DMX’s unfiltered vocal energy and Swizz Beatz’s explosive production. From the first shriek of synths, the track announces itself as a raucous release, daring anyone listening to stay still.

Swizz Beatz lays the foundation with a marching, whistle-laced beat that hits like a siren call. The sound is unpolished by design—unapologetically loud, busy, and a little unruly. That unpredictability becomes the perfect match for DMX, who leaps into the verses with venom and volume, listing grievances with an almost theatrical sense of irritation. The structure is straightforward, but the delivery turns it into a kind of controlled frenzy.

There’s a push-pull happening throughout the track: call-and-response, shout and echo, verse and explosion. The chorus booms with blunt force, built for packed rooms and raised voices. It isn’t subtle, and it doesn’t need to be. The rhythm encourages movement, while the hook feels tailor-made for shared shouting, whether in a club, at a concert, or through car speakers. It became a fixture in all of those spaces because it never asks for permission—it kicks the door open and takes over.

The performance is layered with moments of humor, insult, and barely-contained rage. The verses spill out like a list of offenses that DMX is ready to settle on the spot. There’s no internal debate, no second-guessing—just pure reaction, spit out with urgency. The repetition, the ad-libs, and the near-maniacal escalation of frustration all build into a sound that’s both aggressive and anthemic.

The lasting popularity of “Party Up” stems from its ability to stir something primal. It’s not about polished bars or nuanced storytelling. It’s about release. A pressure valve blown wide open, carried by a beat that refuses to sit still. Even decades after its release, the track still charges rooms with reckless joy, making it a go-to soundtrack for celebration, confrontation, and everything in between.

2. Slippin' (1998)

“Slippin’” opens a door few Hip Hop tracks of its time dared to crack. Where many moments in DMX’s catalog erupt with fury and confrontation, this song sinks into something quieter, heavier, and deeply internal. The beat, produced by DJ Shok, leans into melancholy with a sample that feels weightless and cold, circling like memory. There’s no urgency in the rhythm—it’s patient, subdued, and built to hold reflection.

What emerges in the verses is not performance, but exposure. DMX uses the space to sort through personal history with a deliberate, unguarded tone. Each line traces the shape of experiences marked by instability, abandonment, and emotional violence. The writing has no flourish, only clarity. It’s the sound of someone recounting what happened with neither apology nor pride.

There’s an aching stillness in the production that leaves room for DMX’s voice to carry every bruise. Instead of rising to meet the beat, he lets it carry him slowly, almost reluctantly, through memories of confusion and betrayal. There are no personas at work here, only presence—someone standing in the middle of his past and naming what it did to him.

Throughout the track, there’s a rhythmic refrain that returns with each pass like a ritual. It’s not delivered with strength or sorrow, but with worn resolve. Each repetition feels lived-in, like muscle memory. This grounding force shapes the emotional center of the song without offering relief. It builds a space where pain doesn’t need to be transformed—it just needs to be heard.

The production never shifts direction, but that restraint is intentional. There are no dramatic turns or vocal flourishes. The emotional weight remains steady from the first bar to the last, maintaining a kind of hypnotic gravity that leaves a lasting impression. It’s a soundscape made to hold reflection without commentary.

Years after its release, the resonance of “Slippin’” has only deepened. It offers no solutions, no catharsis—only a document of what it means to endure. The strength of the song lies not in confrontation, but in its refusal to hide. In a body of work often shaped by raw energy and barked commands, this track chooses stillness and self-examination, and in doing so, reveals something essential.

1. Ruff Ryders’ Anthem (1998)

“Ruff Ryders’ Anthem” is pure ignition. Built on a stark, repetitive beat crafted by Swizz Beatz, the track pulses with militant cadence and street-born urgency. Released as a single from DMX’s debut album It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot, the song harnesses the raw, unfiltered force of a man who rapped like every verse was life or death. The rhythm marches with precision—just enough space between each thump for DMX’s growls, commands, and clipped observations to punch through with ferocity.

The hook—“Stop. Drop. Shut ‘em down, open up shop.”—lands like a chant in a war zone. Each word sounds built to echo from a dirt bike swarm or a car stereo at full blast. There’s no overproduction, no layered polish. Just drums, keys, and that unmistakable voice cutting through the track like a warning. DMX doesn’t rely on metaphor or layered rhyme schemes. He leans into brute honesty. “All I know is pain, all I feel is rain,” he declares, with a conviction that doesn’t waver.

Swizz Beatz, still early in his career at the time, gave DMX a beat many would have dismissed—cold, simple, without frills. That space allowed every growl, ad-lib, and line to land with weight. According to both artists, DMX wasn’t initially drawn to the instrumental. But once in the booth, something clicked. The “What!” and “Uh!” vocal punches weren’t planned—they erupted from the energy in the room and were left in the final mix to preserve that electricity. The result is unfiltered, unforced, and unforgettable.

The track’s construction mirrors its message: unified, stripped-down, and direct. It doesn’t aim for depth or complexity. It moves with clarity and intent, like a street sermon barked over a marching rhythm. The hook became more than a lyric—it became a gesture, a signal, a lifestyle tied to the Ruff Ryders brand and DMX’s own mythos.

Even decades later, “Ruff Ryders’ Anthem” surges with the same charge. Its presence still commands. Its rhythm still moves crowds. And its voice—hoarse, furious, alive—still sounds like the truth. Every line delivers. Every bar marches forward. Nothing wasted, nothing soft. Just impact.