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A Lil Bit of Everything U.T.P.

50 Cent

Letra

    Everytime I'm in the kitchen, you in the kitchen
    Let me finish this brick, 'fore you put that fish in
    Listen, I know we just came from fishin'
    But I'm on a mission, you see, there's money that I'm missin'
    I got 'em posted, so the move and I'm gonna murder ya'll
    You and all the trouble goin' through by servin' ya'll
    And only cause my man heard of ya'll
    Other than that, shit, ya'll won't get served at all

    I went from oodles and noodles to lobster and shrimp
    I went from bare bubble coats, to brand new minks
    And yo my neck upgraded (uh huh), my wrist's upgraded
    I stay C of F, I ain't got time for Jacob
    I'm still on the strip, tryin' to get my grims off
    Nigga tryin' to flip and its a Mexican stand off
    I'll put a hole in your grill, with the nine mil
    Dressed in all black, lookin' for souls to steal

    Little bit of dust, little bit of cocaine
    Little bit of dro, little bit of heroine
    A little bit of ecstacy
    That's why your bitch want to be next to me
    We sell a little bit a everything

    I put the two mags, up to your do-rag
    And rock a by baby
    I'm in the blue Jag, with new tags
    In case you wanna chase
    I never knew that, the impact
    Comin' up out a desert eagle'll
    Make a nigga wooble and we be screamin' call my people
    We got these fiends goin' liters, and they shootin' needles
    We could be takin' your connection, cause we got it cheaper
    Shit I ain't new to this, I met this air stewardess
    Who knows the ins and outs on how to get it in and out, niggas

    Ya if I put a dress code all black, non-Howells and a laser
    And the party is an ink pen, bottle, or a razor
    Your hollerin' for praise ya
    Catch me in the hood with a model named Taysha
    And the swallow game major
    These cowards ain't gangsta
    They tellin' you lies, by sellin' you dreams
    And they ain't fill ins, they fiends
    Plus they rat, and it's too hot to chill in the sun
    My pops 39 years old, and still on the run

    Order what you want, you want dope, you want coke
    Order what you want, you want X, you want dro
    Shit you got beef, I got a tec and a 4
    You feelin' hot and moist, I even get you a ho
    If you don't got no whip, I get you a car
    If you don't got no skills, I get your some more
    My nigga we don't cut it, we serve it raw
    Got anythin' you want, play us off a hard

    My 22's bling, so niggaz scheme
    745 I clean, these lil' shell nigga
    Fuck a triple beam, coffee pot to cook coke
    Joe to smoke, I was born to loc
    Method cut the coke, 50 no joke
    I ain't Scarface, no women, no kids, I don't give a
    fuck
    Better teach that bitch, and that little nigga to duck
    With a P-90 Roger, I put shots all through ya
    If you survive you gonna feel what talent, do to ya


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