[Chorus]
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven, gotta make it to heaven
I gotta make it to heaven, for going through hell
Gotta make it to heaven I hope I make it to heaven

[50 Cent]
Some say I'm paranoid I say I'm careful how I choose my friends
Been to ICU once I ain't going again
First Zee got murked, then Raw got murked
An homies still in the hood, why he ain't getting hurt
I smell somethin' fishy man it might be a rat
Damn niggas switching sides on niggas just like that
You know me, I stay wit a bitch on her knees
An get guns away in the hood like government cheese
Spray on Suzuki's eleven hundred cc's
More plate on the back, straight squeezing a Mak
In the hood they identify niggas by they cars
So I switch up whips to stay off the radar
I ain't gotta be around to make shit hot
I send Yayo to dump 30 shots on ya block
So spray that Tec nigga if I say get it done
An make it wet niggas if you round me son

[Chorus: x2]

[50 Cent]
When I come through the hood, I don't stop the rapping niggaz
Get close enough to smack, get it clapping nigga
Pac tried to front so I waved the chrome on his ass
Point blank range I span put a bone on his ass
Two weeks later niggas came through with Maks to lay me down
Then sprayed I played dead and got the fuck off the ground
Out the blue I get a phone call, 50 what up?
You send a bitch at me I send the bitch back cut up
I don't play that pussy shit, I done told you boy
Front on me, you gon meet one of my soldiers boy
Cause Entwain shot up his mamma crib an now he in Jail
Trippin on Fliks an bogger trail, pussy in black tail
Pack mamma moved, but she don't talk to him no more
The shells from twains 4-4, blew the hinge off her do'
Without that Tec every month how she gon pay for the crib
Man social service finis' come and take them kids

[Chorus: x2]

[50 Cent]
Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage
To change the things I can, but wisdom to know the difference
But A, Ade did a make you say that I say that
That's the credit put in your head when you a case act
Man I might talk to you while we up in the Penz
But when we come home, that don't mean we goin' fuck an be friends
Shells smash ya head close enough to hear 'em whistling
Thank god they missed you, an go grab ya pistol
In the hood niggas running round acting crazy
Buying little air Jordan's for maybe babies
See it might be his, an it might be yours
Cause them broads in the projects is straight up whores
Man it don't take much for you to get in them draws
You ain't can have 'em on they back or on all fours
You got to tell me, you feeling this shit
Because I hear what I'm saying I know I'm killing this shit

[Chorus: x2]

Writer : DORSEY WESLEY, CURTIS JACKSON
Copyright : Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group