On My Ones - K Koke, RD

They don’t wanna start it off

If a man come round then we’re barking off

Locking all them parties off

Tell Radio 1, think imma bring on Charlie Sloth

When badman walk across

Let’s see if one of them man can palm us off

When badman walk across

Let’s see if one of them man can palm us off

Real niggas putting in work

There’s no one else taking my glory, they can check my story

I was making my O for surely

Nobody would’ve ever done the murders for me

You can run round playing a gangster

But my West side niggas ain’t into banter

When I’m coming I ain’t coming to shank you

Got my face wrapped up in my Alexander

On a hot boy bus parade

Said a bad man ting, might get you sprayed

I walks up to the niggas I paid

When I’m taking a risk I’m importing the highest grade

Won’t stop till the money’s made

We won’t stop till the money’s made

I’ve got a man on a plane, we ain’t playing no games

And that nigga ain’t shit for days, it’s nothing like shotting haze

Ain’t come for Treys, I want it after the final phase

Touch man, I ain’t come to graze

I’ll make a young buck take the praise

Boys are sick and for the swagger them niggas are sick

Bandana wrapped round the clip

Don’t act as if I go down on my chick

Wanna lick her nips, when I come down I only nick

On my ones, I will buss my gun

Man won’t take that talk, man will make that bark

Man will send man corn till man’s dead and gone

And gone, and gone

On my ones, I will buss my gun

Man won’t take that talk, man will make that bark

Man will send man corn till man’s dead and gone

And gone, and gone

Ride out, nine out

Flying round with that pipe out

Riding out, we don’t lie down

We just light rounds on these hype clowns

If you diss my niggas, wiggas

Run up with the spinners, hit him

Done him then we’re missing, skidding

Asking why we did it

Busy-usy-usy to the cemetery

Four fizzy spinning, hitting all my enemies

Talk different, I’ve got niggas man can send for me

But we don’t watch colour, for my brudda man will dead the beef

White boys, Asians, black boys with no patience

I know riders that caught cases

And took life birds and don’t say shit

Ain’t shit, basics, rat-tat on you pagans

No chit-chat for you haters

That MAC claps, it ain’t racist

On my ones, I will buss my gun

Man won’t take that talk, man will make that bark

Man will send man corn till man’s dead and gone

And gone, and gone

On my ones, I will buss my gun

Man won’t take that talk, man will make that bark

Man will send man corn till man’s dead and gone

And gone, and gone