Young Jeezy - OUTRO (MIXTAPE) lyrics

(Ay, ay, ay, ay) New shoes on the range rover, good one man (vroom) Motherf**ers acting like I ain't supposed to shine I ain't the one, definitely not the two (nope) One in the chamber when we aiming at you The young Bob Barker, the price is right If you C.O.D. then you could get them tonight Put the fish scale on the scale If Roy went postal, all he do is check mail (ha ha) 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 Chump change, I make it rain for fun (whats up) 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 I get them 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 100 percent served, Snowman's word You can play my thug and 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 bu*terflies 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 tote that 'cane Get money, n***a f** them haters All we fear is the discovery and inditement papers (whats up) 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 I'm a grown a** man, I stand on my own two 200,000 cash, yeah, 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 n***a Put The Mask on, Jim Carey a n***a (Blaou) Swede ends in the Chevy, got me feelin' 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 n***as take notes Recite my adlibs, borrow my quotes Make me I hop a n***a, serve them with the toast Next, they be dressing like me But back in '93, they wasn't stressing like me (whats up) 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