Pity in the Summer - Jim Jones, Cam'Ron, Marc Scibilia

New York’s pretty pity in the summer

Rotten Apple, baby

And it ain’t no pity in the rain

(Heatmakerz, crack music)

On my sundresses and cocaine

Flyin' into one coast and the other

Might score out here

Now that I really wish I could stay

Ya heard me?

Uh, uh

With all my efforts is so effortless (Like)

I treat these raps like cracks when I was cheffin' bricks

Blindfold me in the kitchen or anywhere next to it (I got it)

Did fuck your bitch, you could put an X next to it

A one-thirty is like a Glock with an extra clip

I call my bitch to make sure she got an extra bitch

I buy a burner phone just so I could text her (He gone)

Set a nigga up, they always fall for a sexy bitch (Silly)

'Specially in the summer with a sundress

A forty-five'll make a grown man undress (Get naked)

Pussy nigga lucky the gun jammed like SummerFest (Boom)

Think about yes but I’ma ten when the sun set

Uh, shit’ll make your soul move

Feed a nigga bullets like he was eatin' soul food

Turn a hot boy into a cold dude

Still dancin' on Coke, shit, that’s my old moves

Uh, what’s up, what’s up?

Real niggas in the buildin', what’s up, what’s up?

We in the city poppin' wheelies with one wheel up

Big chains, new watches on drug dealers, huh

New York’s pretty pity in the summer

And it ain’t no pity in the rain

Flyin' into one coast and the other

Now that I really wish I could stay

I ain’t get a deal, you still wanna cool me off

Me and Jim, we woulda made a livin' smackin' coofies off

The coupe, it cost, the roof is off

See inside it, the leather baby, bootie-soft

Why you mad?

You knew we flossed

Drip hard, stupid sauce

Neiman Marcus, Louis Force

Fuck you, truly yours

I knew D-Firm, the real on it

Henny up for Kenny Hutch

Yeah, that’s on my moms, bitch

Don’t make the don of dons turn into Don Trip

King and queen, you pawn, slick, stay calm, bitch

Call some models up, bring 'em through, let the bottles pour

Me and Big Meech really had bottle wars

Gettin' money, it don’t matter what the bottom score is

Gettin' money, you can say shit like «Swallow, whore»

Butter-soft duffel bag, fill up mine, get a half

Flip a pack, took some L’s, every time I get it back

Uh, what’s up, what’s up?

Real niggas in the buildin', what’s up, what’s up?

We in the city poppin' wheelies with one wheel up

Big chains, new watches on drug dealers, huh

Camera saw what your crew made

Now they snitchin', they Anbesol, they too fake

I’ll grant 'em all for thirty grams of raw

Had a dream I met Pablo, told 'em, «I've been a fan of yours»

Ice in my crucifix, fat man fly

'Cause of the white, my cross fire like the Klan outside

Got half the block combin' for a half a block

I’m in an apricot foreign with Travis Scott Jordans

This junkie know I’m affiliated

Had his Oxy 80 on the table that’s missin', I feel he ate it

They see me spittin' and they feel he made it

So the eagle I will fill in Philly, you feel me?

I’m Philly hated

The Cream still a favorite

My eyes water up when I see my fiends rehabilitated

If you owe, then you still owe, nigga, the bill updated

That’s how I go, nothin' to play with

New York, nigga

Uh, what’s up, what’s up?

Real niggas in the buildin', what’s up, what’s up?

We in the city poppin' wheelies with one wheel up

Big chains, new watches on drug dealers, huh

New York’s pretty pity in the summer

And it ain’t no pity in the rain

Flyin' into one coast and the other

Now that I really wish I could stay