Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song On One, artist - E-40. Date of issue: 24.11.2016
Song language: English
On One |
| Only the strong can survive, Cali is where I reside |
| Hustlers with flashy rides, bitches with big behinds |
| Vigils, candle lights, artillery oversized |
| The element of surprise, robberies, homicides |
| I’m maney I’m mannish, I’m cuttin' up |
| I’m havin' my dough or should I say pie crust? |
| I never move slow 'cause I’m always in a rush |
| You threaten me ho, I’m gonna have you touched up |
| You think I won’t go my nigga? |
| Then try your luck |
| We can go toe-to-toe and bet I fuck you up |
| I got moulah, chalupa bust your medulla |
| Never funk with a nigga that got gouda |
| The everyday attitude of a Bay boy |
| The wrong side of the bed I woke up today boy |
| Will get on your head and split your toupee boy |
| You let that bitch get in your ear just like an Android |
| I be on one! |
| Better do what I say right away |
| I be on one! |
| Don’t try to get in my way, I ain’t playin' |
| I be on one! |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah |
| I be on one! |
| Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa |
| I be on one! |
| I be on one my nigga! |
| All I think about is money, pussy and liquor |
| Clientele and climbing, trying to get ten figures |
| Try to wipe me out and I’m gonna get in your business |
| I say what I say and mean what I say what I said |
| When I get a speeding ticket, go to class I don’t pay it |
| I’m a stingy motha fucka 'bout my chicken and bones |
| White boy wasted, bowls and bongs |
| Black boy faded, Backwoods and cones |
| Heem and vodka, high as a drone |
| I’ve been ballin' since a teen, on the scene, me and my team |
| Soil living, hot water, cornbread and navy beans |
| Beverly hillbilly, roosters, horses and goats |
| Got family in the «The Boot», Louisiana got kin folks |
| Bicoastal, not local, shop at Cavalli on Soho |
| My pistol on split your tamale, G-27−40 |
| I be on one! |
| Better do what I say right away |
| I be on one! |
| Don’t try to get in my way, I ain’t playin |
| I be on one! |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah |
| I be on one! |
| Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa |
| I be on one! |
| 2−3-4−5, Northern California where this hustla resides |
| Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, hella people done died |
| Funkin' over corners, niggas losing their lives |
| This world is small and it’s cold and it’s smirkish |
| Lotta these suckas is bogus, losin their mind and their focus |
| I don’t know if you noticed, I don’t know if you noticed |
| The loudest talkers is always the brokest |
| Roast you with the toasters, leave you stinking like halatosis |
| Raising the rubble the struggle, gravel, the tar |
| Where they play with them drums and pluck you like a guitar |
| His bitch wanna cuddle, she tryna get us in trouble |
| She tryna make us a item, she want us to be a couple |
| I be on one! |
| Better do what I say right away |
| I be on one! |
| Don’t try to get in my way, I ain’t playin |
| I be on one! |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah |
| I be on one! |
| Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa |
| I be on one! |