Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Yeah, artist - Andre Nickatina. Date of issue: 23.08.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Yeah |
| Man, I’mma run my mouth and get your corporate account |
| Bring my benz out in the middle of a drought |
| I blow lah like it’s «God Bless Buddha» |
| It’s sort of like the feelin' runnin' with a known shooter |
| Baby I’mma spit it to the limit, run into the abyss |
| You know it’s God, number 7 on your top ten list |
| It’s 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! |
| (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) |
| Yeah, nigga I’mma 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’mma 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’mma shady ass nigga, man I ain’t gon' lie |
| I just wanna sell dope, smoke weed and get high, you BITCH |
| (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) |
| 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 |
| 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 |