Yeah

When I'ma run my mouth

To get your corporate account

Bring my Benz out

In the middle of a drought

I blow La like it's God bless Buddha

It's sort of like the feeling

Running with a known shooter

Baby, I'ma spit it to the limit

Run into the abyss

You know it's God

Number seven on your top ten list

It's kamikaze

Look into the eyes of a Pisces

In Las Vegas, talking shit

Is where you might find me

Feeling low 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 the money pile grows

You got a crocodile style

I sport gators

They still might bite

So fresh with the flavor

Got kind

Feel Mo's number one sign

Steak, potatoes

Garlic bread and some prime

Yeah, San Fransisco, baby

Fillmore **** tryna bring back the 80s

Yeah, yeah, money is the model

And run around town like it's Grand Theft Auto, Chaka Kahn

Wally on my hip, good weed in my mouth

Got some **** in the whip, yeah

You're not dealing with clowns

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

Yeah, ****, I'm a motherfucking fool

Trees for breakfast, eat brunch by noon

Twenty-four diamonds on the show in the lip

The rest of the rim is the same color of the whip

Jump out and crack a ****'s shit wide open

Jump back in the **** with the barrel still smoking

Feel more, ****, 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 in the back of that Hilary Duff

I'm a pimp trapped in a gangster's body

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

On Tuesday and Thursday the Ghost pull up

Then everybody runs, they'll fuck you up

I'm a shady ass ****, man, I ain't gon' lie

I just wanna sell dope, smoke weed and get high

Yeah, San Fransisco, baby

Fillmore **** tryna bring back the 80s

Yeah, yeah, money is the model

And run around town like it's Grand Theft Auto, Chaka Kahn

Wally on my hip, good weed in my mouth

Got some **** in the whip, yeah

You're not dealing 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 Ballys

With my Slick Rick talk and my Slick Rick walk

I wear rings like the planet called Saturn

The money's moving, 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 Gs in a Jordan briefcase

My hood came up off the word free base

Man, the soul of the granny run through my body structure

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

It's a cold world, that's why I p-p-p-p-party

My lawyer is a sneaky motherfucker, very naughty

With hot lies, I hit Popeye for hot fries

A real rap cat talks until the sun rise

What's your astrology and your biography?

I talk a little bit to get you to follow me

I like the quality, you like the quantity

Fillmore born and ain't no apology

San Fransisco, baby

Fillmore **** tryna bring back the 80s, yeah

Wally on my hip, good weed in my mouth

Got some **** in the whip, yeah