Qui a composé la chanson “Gotta Make It to Heaven [Clean]” de 50 Cent?

La chanson “Gotta Make It to Heaven [Clean]” de 50 Cent a été composée par Dorsey Wesley, Curtis James Jackson.

Gotta Make It to Heaven [Clean]

Dorsey Wesley, Curtis James Jackson

I gotta make it to Heaven, for goin' through Hell
Gotta make it to Heaven, gotta make it to Heaven
I gotta make it to Heaven, for goin' through Hell
I gotta make it to Heaven, I hope I make it to Heaven

Some say I'm paranoid, I say I'm careful how I choose my friends
Been to ICU once I ain't goin' again
First Z got murked, then Roy got murked
And homie still in the hood, why he ain't gettin' hurt?
I smell somethin' fishy, man, it might be a rat
Damn, n- switchin' sides on n- just like that
You know me, I stay wit' a bitch on her knees
And give guns away in the hood like government cheese
Spray on Suzuki's, eleven-hundred CC's
No plate on the back, straight squeezin' the MAC
In the hood they identify n- 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 thirty shots on ya block
'Cause he spray that TEC, n-, if I say get it done
I'll make ya wack n- if you 'round me, son

I gotta make it to Heaven, for goin' through Hell
I gotta make it to Heaven, I gotta make it to Heaven
I gotta make it to Heaven, for goin' through Hell
I gotta make it to Heaven I hope I make it to Heaven
I gotta make it to Heaven, for goin' through Hell
I gotta make it to Heaven, I gotta make it to Heaven
I gotta make it to Heaven, for goin' through Hell
I gotta make it to Heaven, I hope I make it to Heaven

When I come through the hood, I don't stop to rap to n- (yeah)
Get close enough to smack, get it clap ya, n-
Pop tried to front so I waved the chrome on his ass
Point blank range, I spazzed, pulled a bone on his ass
Two weeks later n- came through with MACs 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?"
"They sent a bitch at me, I sent 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
Cousin Twin shot up his mama crib now he in jail
Trippin' off flicks of Blu Catrell, pussy and black tail
Pop mama moved, but she don't talk to him no more
The shells from Twin's .44, blew the hinge off her door
Without that check every month how she gon' pay for the crib?
Man, social service finna come and take them kids

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change
The courage to change the things I can, the wisdom to know the difference
In AA they make you say that
That's the prayer they burn in your head when you in CASAT
Man, I might talk to you while we up in them pens (uh-huh)
But when we come home, that don't mean we gon' f- be friends
The shells smash ya head close enough to hear 'em whistle
Thank God they missed you, and go grab ya pistol
In the hood n- runnin' round actin' crazy
Buyin' little Air Jordans for maybe babies
See it might be his and it might be yours
'Cause them broads in the projects is straight up whores (haha)
Man, it don't take much for you to get in them draws (uh-huh)
You ain't can have 'em on they back or on all fours
You ain't got to tell me, you feelin' this shit
'Cause I hear what I'm sayin', I know I'm killin' this shit

50 Cent

Gotta Make It to Heaven [Clean]

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