Mr. 17.5

New shoes on the range rover, good one, man

Motherfuckers acting like I ain't supposed to shine

I ain't the one, definitely not the two

One in the chamber when aiming at you

The young Bob Barker, the price is right

If you C-O-D, you can get 'em tonight

Put the fish scale on the scale

The boy went postal, all he do is check mail

Low key, under the radar

Triple black 'Vet, 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

Chump change, I make it rain for fun, what's up?

Snowman, get yo 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

Snowman, get yo 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

I get them bars out of the back of my mind

I said, I reminisce like Mary J

Even in the drought, the boy kept that yay'

A hundred percent served, Snowman wass workin'

You can blame my plug and my clientele

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

Mini 14s and Rolex watches

Somewhere in the back of my sick and deranged brain

I get a rush when I talk that 'cane

Get money, **** fuck them haters

All we fear is the discovery and inditement papers, what's up?

Snowman, get yo 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

Snowman, get yo 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

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 ****

Put The Mask on, Jim Carrey a ****

Swede ends in the Chevy, got me feeling awkward

Careful with the sweets, don't burn my seats

You could live your whole life and not come close

Guess that's why these rap **** take notes

Recite my ad-libs, borrow my quotes

Make me IHOP a ****, serve them with the toast

Next, they be dressing like me

But back in '93, they wasn't stressing like me, what's up?

Snowman, get yo 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

Snowman, get yo 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