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letra de just because - fatt macc & k carbon

[intro]
(48hz)

[verse 1: k carbon & fatt macc]
mansion party in cal’, calabasas on b-tches’ ass like balabasas (like what?)
p-ssy sweet like lefty taffy, we hand out l’s, don’t get caught lackin’ (on god)
off the red-eye, straight to traffic, puttin’ belt straight to b-tches— (hahaha, brrt, brrt, brrt, come on)
puttin’ belt straight to b-tches’ ass
these n-ggas come and go, my trap still roll, i’m still gon’ stack my dough (on god)
streets know i’m that b-tch, onew thing for sure, can’t treat me like no ho (uh-uh, uh-uh)
and we take n-ggas out like they ordered this beef sh-t to go (let’s go)
gettin’ this pape’ make my shoulder lean, you’ll think i was bumpin’ drake (on god)

[verse 2: fatt macc]
california bossin’ over dinners (phew), bad b-tches, lot of love for ’em (bad b-tches out of love)
took some l’s but i’m still winnin’, turn myself into your plugs plug (turn myself into your plug)
i just bust a jugg with some thick sh-t (yeah), exotic ‘bows got my wrist lit (on god)
you ain’t one of mine, get your b-tch hit (yeah), i put all my opps on a sh-t list (f-ck it)
got a brown b-tch lookin’ like a tiger, hundred thousand up and i ain’t even lyin’ (b-tch)
this ho all water like a fire fighter, rollie thirty thousand, it don’t tell time (on god)
all cash, we don’t do the strikers, chopper on me, i look like a biker
ate, ate, ate the b-tch up like a sniper (yeah), but she gotta be at least a dime (on god)
real gangster, put that on the bible, play with fatt, one of them n-ggas dyin’ (yeah)
cheated on her, she don’t be outside (yeah), wanna see the kid, i wanna see her spine (on god)

[verse 3: k carbon & fatt macc]
i got sh-t for sale, don’t call this phone unless you buyin’ (the f-ck?)
told him i can’t see a future with him no more, i went blind (i can’t see it)
i ain’t the type to cuff you, no way, ho, go catch up with your kind
ain’t gon’ tell no n-gga i love him, well, i probably did, but i be lyin’ (hahaha)
chains ’round my neck, hittin’, swingin’, swingin’, hittin, they fightin’ (yeah, yeah)
got glocky in the booth, right now, i’m just in here rhymin’ (i stamp that)
and i can’t put no title on what we is, you might get too entitled (yeah)
and i don’t even like you, you just got a lil’ money or whatever
won’t catch me without my shooter, that’s like watchin’ ken with no metal (what the f-ck?)
man, tris on the soda like he been watchin’ ken and kell (like what?)
everything b-tches do, non-profit, they should work for the man (bro)
and i don’t ask him ’bout no other b-tch at all, he know i keep it plain (trap, deep)
[chorus: fatt macc]
diamonds dancin’ like a ballerina (alright), pots spinnin’, i just cooked the dub (phew)
trap hotter than a jalapeno (on god), your hood was hot ’til i made it flood (flood)
left pocket filled with nothin’ but blues, n-gga was a fan ’til i hit it good (i’m crip)
trap n-gga, still’ll f-ck a scrub, i’ma shut up on them n-ggas just because (trap)
diamonds dancin’ like a ballerina (on god), pots spinnin’, i just cooked the dub (phew)
trap hotter than a jalapeno (on god), your hood was hot ’til i made it flood
left pocket filled with nothin’ but blues, n-gga was a fan ’til i hit it good (i’m crip)
trap n-gga, still’ll f-ck a scrub, i’ma shut up on them n-ggas just because (f-ck it)

- fatt macc k carbon

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