Lyrics On My Ones - K Koke, RD

On My Ones

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