Yeah! Lyrics - Andre Nickatina

[Andre Nickatina] 

Man, I'ma run my mouth and get your corporate account 

Bring my benz out in the middle of a drought 

I blow lye like its "God Bless Buddha" 

It's sort of like the feelin' runnin' with a known shooter 

Baby I'ma spit it to the limit, run into the abyss 

You know its god number 7 on your top ten list 

Its kamikaze, look into the eyes of a pisces 

and Las Vegas talkin' shit is where you might find me 

Fillmo' down from the nose to the toes 

Get your cell phone you can picture every pose 

Picture all the clothes, picture all the hoes 

Picture the perfection when your money pile grows 

You gotta crocodile style, I sport gators 

They still might bite, so fresh with the flavor 

Got Khan? Fillmore's number one sign 

Steak, potatoes, garlic bread and some prawns! 

[Chorus: Messy Marv (Andre Nickatina)] 

(YEEEAAH) San Francisco baby 

Fillmo' niggas try'na bring back the 80's, YEEEAAH 

(Yeah money is the motto 

and run around town like its Grand Theft Auto, Chicka-kahnn) 

Wally on my hip, good weed in my mouth 

Gangsta niggas in the whip, YEEEAAH 

(Your not dealin with clowns 

When you try to kick hop, watch your body shut down) 

[Messy Marv] 

Yeah, nigga I'ma mothafuckin' fool 

Trees for breakfast, eat brunch by noon 

24 Davins, only showin the lip 

The rest of the women, same color as the whip 

Jump out and crack a nigga shit wide open 

Jump back in the nickle with the barrel still smokin 

Fillmore nigga, yeah bitch break bread 

I don't want no pussy, I don't want no head 

But you can get a sack of that purple stuff 

Some gin and a bag of that Hillary Duff 

I'ma pimp, trapped in a gangsta's body 

I'm on dope and gonna fuck around and hurt somebody 

On tuesday and thursday the ghost pull up 

Then everybody runs, they'll fuck you up 

I'ma shady ass nigga, man I ain't gon' lie 

I just wanna sell dope, smoke weed and get high, you BITCH 

[Chorus: Messy Marv (Andre Nickatina)] 

(YEEEAAH) San Francisco baby 

Fillmo' niggas try'na bring back the 80's, YEEEAAH 

(Yeah money is the motto 

and run around town like its Grand Theft Auto, Chicka-kahnn) 

Wally on my hip, good weed in my mouth 

Gangsta niggas in the whip, YEEEAAH 

(Your not dealin with clowns 

When you try to kick hop, watch your body shut down) 

[Andre Nickatina] 

You might mistake me for Doug E. Fresh, the way I sport ballies 

With my Slick Rick talk and my Slick Rick walk 

I wear rings like the planet called Saturn 

The money's movin' baby then your body is the pattern 

You know I hide out like it's witness protection 

Some people start to stare like a model car collection 

You know it's like: twenty G's in a Jordan briefcase 

My hood came up off the word "freebase" 

Man the soul of a grammy runs through my body structure 

My bottom ho cries, 'cause I never say I love her 

It's a cold word, thats why I p-p-p-party 

My lawyer is a sneaky motherfucker, very naughty 

With hot lies, I hit Popeye's for hot fries 

A real rap cat, talkin' 'til the sun rise 

What's your astrology, and your biography 

I talk a little bit to get you to follow me 

I'm like the quality, you like the quanity 

Fillmore born and ain't no apology 

[Messy Marv] 

San Francisco baby 

Fillmo' niggas try'na bring back the 80's, YEEEAAH 

Wally on my hip, good weed in my mouth 

Gangsta niggas in the whip, YEEEAAH