Mr. 17.5 – Young Jeezy

[Verse 1]
New shoes on the range rove, good with mine (vrrooomm)
You motherfuckers act like I ain’t supposed to shine
I ain’t the one, definitely not the two (nope)
One in the chamber don’t make me aim it at you (blaow)
The young Bob Barker, the price is right
If it’s C. O. D. you can get ’em tonight
Put the fishscale on the scale
Ya boy went postal, all he do is check mail (hahaaaa)
Low key, under the radar
Triple black vet, yeah I call it the stealth
No currency machine, I could count it myself
Almost done, another quarter million in ones
Thunder storm in the body-tap, look what I’ve done
Chunk change, I make it rain for fun (wassup)

[Chorus]
Snow man, get cha hands up high
It’s ya boy, Mr. 17-5
I take it back to the block, back to the kitchen, back to the pots
Snow man, get cha hands up high
It’s ya boy, Mr. 17-5
I take it back to the block, back to the kitchen, back to the pots

[Verse 2]
I get the bars out of the back of my mind
That’s how, I reminisce like Mary J
Even in the drought, the boy kept that yay
A hundred percent certain, Snowman was workin’
You can blame my plug or my clientele (why?)
I’m addicted to that new car smell
White cookies in a plastic bag
New shoes on the coupe with the paper tag
Whole life flash right before your eyes
See the state troopers and get butterflies
Got a thing for them Heckler and Koches
A minute 14 and Rolex watches
Somewhere in the back of my secret deranged brain
I get a rush when I talk that ‘cane
Get money, nigga fuck them haters
All we fear is the discovery and Inditement papers (wassup)

[Chorus]
Snow man, get cha hands up high
It’s ya boy, Mr. 17-5
I take it back to the block, back to the kitchen, back to the pots
Snow man, get cha hands up high
It’s ya boy, Mr. 17-5
I take it back to the block, back to the kitchen, back to the pots

[Verse 3]
I’m a grown ass man, I stand on my own two
200,000 cash, I’m buying my own team
Right to your front door, operation so sweet
I like little dude who keeps his money so neat
But I still bury a nigga
Put The Mask on, Jim Carey a nigga (blaow)
Suede ends in the Chevy, got me feelin’ akward
Careful with the sweets, dont burn my seats
You could live your whole life and not come close
Guess that’s why these rap niggas take notes
Rectite my adlibs, borrow my quotes
Make me Ihop a nigga, serve them with the toast
Next, they be dressin’ like me
But back in ’93, they wasn’t stressin’ like me (wassup)

[Chorus]
Snow man, get cha hands up high
It’s ya boy, Mr. 17-5
I take it back to the block, back to the kitchen, back to the pots
Snow man, get cha hands up high
It’s ya boy, Mr. 17-5
I take it back to the block, back to the kitchen, back to the pots


Lyric Mr. 17.5 – Young Jeezy