Play Your Corner - WEN, Riko

Original don dada

That’s why unnu haffi chat to me proper

Rise up mi gun, watch everything start scatter

Till the gun man ah buss, it goes a rat-a an' tatta', yeah

Dem haffi chat to me decent

Cah mi will murder boy without reason

Bwoy get duppy like him commit treason

And mi nuh care which bloodclart season

A coulda winter

Mi mek soundboy run like a sprinter

Mi will get bad like an old school ninja

Gunshot red up your head like you ah ginger

Original bad boy inna di area

Shot bite bwoy skin like malaria

Dem ah gwan like dem ah gangster

When I come around, di grime scene get scarier

Ayy bwoy, you a snitch, informer, you’re a grass

That’s why you will get a shot inna your arse

That’s why we nuh trust them bloodclart boy

Any time of the day, much less after dark

Inna war, we will back up mi gun dem calm

Same time, mi will back up mi gun dem fast

We see Babylon and we don’t talk

You see Babylon and you start talk

You start sing, you start tell Babylon everything

Tell Babylon how much coke mi ah shot

Tell Babylon how much gun mi ah bring

How mi ah run up in a soundclash with twenty man

And how mi ah kill everything

Bwoy life up when the spinner start spin

And your neck get bruk when di sinner start sin

Hol' on a-yout

Hol' on a-man

Rise up mi hand from dem

Hol' on a-yout

Hol' on a-man

Draw for mi gun when mi

You know that was bang out of order

Crossed the line, now you’ve crossed the border

You just turned the wrong corner

You could have had Wen play your corner

Look, I’m going to shower this ting down

I’ve got a clip for a coward that’s in town

You better get down, I got a stick

And I come here to spit rounds

You wanna come around here with dem likkle bars

And some likkle shit sound?

You better know man ah roll with the big sound

And my gun’s got the largest teeth

Rudeboy, you can call it a big hound

Anyting try test, mi will lick down

One bar, everyting get spin round

Tell a dibby MC «sit down»

Man come try ring off the big pound

I mean trey pound

I squeeze off, I’ll make ten niggas lay down

Yeah, and they’re going to stay down

I’m a big man who they can’t play round

They can’t fuck round, when I touch down

Everything dead with the lead, mi ah run down

Shot inna head, dem dead by sundown

'Cause I’m a real gun man, you’re a gun clown

I leave everybody dead with one round, one clip

Can’t come tell me nuttin' 'bout the gun 'ting, I does this

In beef, pack more than one clip

And I’m on a soundclash ting 'cause I run this

And I got lyrics and shells in abundance

I run the circumference

Let me break that down for you dunces

Basically I’m no clown, I’m a dumpers

I put holes and rounds inna jumpers

And I’m on point like a rasclart compass

And I don’t believe a word you say

'Cause I know that you man are fronters

Hol' on a-yout

Hol' on a-man

Rise up mi hand from dem

Hol' on a-yout

Hol' on a-man

Draw for mi gun when mi

Hol' on a-yout

Hol' on a-man

If a bwoy wan' disrespeck di programme

Hol' on a-yout

Hol' on a-man

You know that was bang out of order

Crossed the line, now you’ve crossed the border

You just turned the wrong corner

You could have had Wen play your corner