Lyrics of 'Summertime' by Clipping

Set's up high, bitches and whips topless, no ceilings
They pitchin' that Helen Mirren
It's summer, that pot stick (pot stick)
Block burning, G's banging on the beach, white Ts, no-sock shit
Palm tree on lean, bass rocks with the knock
Every cockpit bumpin' that Pac on the stock system rattlin'
But battle-ready cuzzo got the heavy metal
Tucked to haggle for the Fendi watches
Watch it, everyone observe the color
Of the block where they walkin', watch how they walkin'
See her at the payphone code-talkin'
She got them high shorts, thighs thick, pussy poppin'
So the lay of the block
Maintain, as long everybody play they role, and not
Try to step on somebody else's line
But when they do, the critic quick to put a clip in a nine
A motherfucker will die in the summertime

Low-lows clown on they pogo bounce
When they slow-mo round, make the hoes go down
Homies smoke that loud till they choke, fall out
And they run they mouth, what they don't know might end 'em
'Cause them women so fine in the summertime
Turn a six to a dime in the summertime
Motherfuckers still die in the summertime
It happens all the time in the summertime

Hold the liquor, it's a avalanche comin'
A Cali nigga flooded in ice and quite stunnin'
And who wouldn't believe the West Coast brung 'em?
When the rest start runnin' when my set start gunnin'
I came to represent for the Likwit Empire
Tha Liks, Esquire, with about six priors
It's been a minute since I lit a nigga on fire
And I won't stop rockin' till your nigga expire
I-uh gut the mic with the negative hype
Any steelo or fashion, I'm a negative type
Write whatever you like, starts day into night
Paragraphin', how you have it, I be crashin' your sight
As a treat, I'll eat all beef and gripes
Toss up you niggas tryna peel my stripes
Killas don't fright, but, hold up, here's the truth
Summer turn cold when the crown hits the booth, nigga

Low-lows clown on they pogo bounce
When they slow-mo 'round, make the hoes go down
Homies smoke that loud till they choke, fall out
And they run they mouth, what they don't know might end 'em
'Cause them women so fine in the summertime
Turn a six to a dime in the summertime
Motherfuckers still die in the summertime
It happens all the time in the summertime

Dice game, rice rocket, pipe-laying, sidewalkin'
Ides drinkin', wine-talkin'
Where that Fernet, though? (Right?)
Price-payin', eye sockets, dry-makin', fire-lockin'
Flypaper, skyrockets, scare residentials
Donuts in the cul-de-sac
Photos at the intersection show 'em knock Coronas back
Flipping off the pigs and breaking mirrors 'cause he own it, Jack
And he on about half a pill, and he don't wanna yack
So he keep it rollin' like that dice game
Homies talk shit, Andrew Dice Clay
Homies take shifts watching vice playing nice, like they ain't narcs
Roll a seven; guns spark, dogs bark, dial nine-eleven
Cars parked, ring alarms, homies stop bettin', just for a second
Then start it up again like resurrection, they count their blessings
Stop rubberneckin', you lookin' sweeter than confection
Pause, laugh it off or get a weapon

Low-lows clown on they pogo bounce
When they slow-mo 'round, make the hoes go down
Homies smoke that loud till they choke, fall out
And they run they mouth, what they don't know might end 'em
'Cause them women so fine in the summertime
Turn a six to a dime in the summertime
Motherfuckers still die in the summertime
It happens all the time in the summertime