[Chorus: Illmac]
This feel like hoodie season
Rain clouds and bullets squeezing
Crooked police dying, good we even
Hunting pigs, I’m a wolf in sheepskin
This heart on my sleeve cold, it’s hoodie season
Used to pick a switch ‘fore I took a beating
Now if we get the stick it ain’t what you thinking
Yeah, this feel like hoodie season
This heart on my sleeve cold

[Verse 1: Fredo]
It’s not a hobby how I stunt
Shottie with the pump karate chop the front
Jimmy Hoffa’s body in the trunk, riding ‘round
Right by ya’ clique, it’s silent sounds
I ain’t hear shit, can’t even tell ‘em to quiet down
‘Cause it’s just, me talking at times at night I feel I’m sleepwalking
Rotten to thе core if Adam eavesdropping
It’s hoodiе season
I’m in LA I’m from the Bay so I’m cookie-seeking
Think about things I done ‘cause you couldn’t even
You could rest assured, if you put my content under pressure I’ma let it burst
We first, next to second third
The good Bison in the session, full head of fur
Any who test me will be addressed like the Gettysburg
Chase got the beat on Pirellis, just hear the engine purr
They can’t find me, late ‘90s bubble Lex’ and swerve
Classic, cannot be no average
Smoke a pound of elbow, drop the form like Randy Savage
Algae-grower everywhere, I really didn’t plan it
Green hairs on the tree it look like Captain Planet
It’s the pot look, we just kill the game ‘cause we on fire
This is not luck, the F-bomber, back up in this bitch like I forgot something
Get a sock-lock, off the top bunk
The Hanzo cut you in half and it look like you ain’t got touched
Beauty is skin-deep so I dig deeper
I put my hood on, the Grim Reaper
It’s hoodie season
[Chorus: Illmac]
This feel like hoodie season
Rain clouds and bullets squeezing
Crooked police dying, good we even
Hunting pigs, I’m a wolf in sheepskin
This heart on my sleeve cold, it’s hoodie season
Used to pick a switch ‘fore I took a beating
Now if we get the stick it ain’t what you thinking
Yeah, this feel like hoodie season
This heart on my sleeve cold

[Verse 2: Illmac]
Scarlet moon samurai, rusty ax, satchel side
Apache tribe, scalps in my hand, letting hatchets fly
Ain’t been the same since my grandma died, had to cut some family ties (R.I.P.)
Going through the motions like a pantomime
That aside, hand to God, never ran and hide
I’m outside, that’s the vibe, dying breed, I’m the last alive
Nothing’s free, can’t oblige
Tough as leather, tan ya’ hide
Stand behind the cannon like I’m camera-shy, boy
Now just imagine if I gave a fuck
They don’t believe in God until they standing in the way of one
Warpaint, Native tongues, rain dance, bang a drum
Y’all came in the game to stunt, bitch I came to hunt
Double-barrel 12-gauge under the warm Penalty
DoubleWood 12 Balvenie, I pour vintages
Tommy gun John Dillinger, the flow like an Aventador engine
Y’all more akin to a four-cylinder
Horror cinema, once a millennia I rise from the deep
And storm villages, drink formaldehyde and feast
On ya’ core innocence, seasoned wit’ salt and vinegar
They see me, and blow conch shells to warn villagers
I, bathe ‘em in blood and teach ‘em to swim
Their feeling of grief’s my sense of victory, breathing it in
Death in the air like leaves in the wind
Tears roll down my cheek and end up freezing before reaching my chin
[Outro: Illmac]
This feel like hoodie season