Pity in the Summer by Jim Jones Lyrics

[Intro]
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?

[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
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
[Chorus: Rain910]
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

[Post-Chorus]
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

[Verse 2: Cam'ron]
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
[Chorus: Rain910]
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

[Verse 3: Fred The Godson]
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

[Chorus: Rain910]
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
[Outro]
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