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Lyric 50 CENT Places To Go



[Chorus (x2):]
I got places to go, I got people to see,
The penitentiary, ain’t the place for me,
I’m warning you do, not tempt me,
I’ll run up and squeeze
And put a hole in you, hole in you

You mistaken me for somebody that you should be testing,
You should be stressing I’m gonna fucking teach you a lesson,
RAP 101’s in session Em lace the track that I’m blessing,
Smith and Wesson’s, the weapon, in case you just guessing, (god damn)
These straight busters kept-in, kept-in my Benz, hop-in the end’s,
Watch the 22 spin, my hoe’s a perfect 10
I got shot up but I got up and I’m back at it again,
Motherfuckers they thought I wouldn’t win, pretend to be friends,
At first you fail, try, try, try, try again,
I’m the best – don’t you get it? Forget it, when I spit it, it’s crazy,
You love it, admit it, you like that, I live it, it’s Shady,
Aftermath in your ass bitch, if it’s not a classic,
When it’s dumped, trash it, so I got it mastered,
Stop and get your ass kicked, bastered, your misses get drastic,
Glock made out of plastic, cock-it and get blasted,
Run nigga and stash it…

[Chorus (x2)]

There is a genie in that bottle of that Don Perignon
I’m a drink till I get to that bitch Em and Dre gon’,
Introduce me to the burbs they gonna listen to my words,
In the hood they feel my shit…
(break-it down!)

Picture a perfect picture, picture me in the pimp hat
Picture me starting shit, picture me busting my gat,
Picture police mad they ain’t gotta picture of that,
Picture me being broke, picture me smoking a sack,
Picture me coming up, picture me rich from rap,
Picture me blowing up, now picture me going back,
To my momma basement to live, shit, picture that,
Where I’m from it’s a fact, you gotta watch your back,
You wear a vest without a gat, use a target jack,
Hastle hard, money stack, sell that dope, sell that crack,
Sell that pack, sell that gat, sell that pussy, holla back
50 Cent, too much henny, man I’m bent, I’m outta here

[Chorus (x2)]

Man I ain’t going to jail
Not even to visit a nigga
You want to holla at me, you wright me,
Matter a fact, you gotta send it to Sunset Boulevard,
In Montreal,
Riding around in one of Dre’s Ferrari’s nigga,
Or matter a fact I might be in Detroit,
Riding down 8 Mile road,
You know, for one of them en-joints and shit,
Ya heard, I got place to go man,
You know, Shady / Aftermath,
We finished our print money,
Puttin’ our faces on this motherfucking bill thug shit,
Ha ha ha ha ha,
Ain’t seem to be doing much…


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