PBJT Lyrics – DABABY

DaBaby’s serving up that chaotic kitchen-sink energy on “PBJT,” his latest single that dropped December 2 via Interscope, twisting the goofy Buckwheat Boyz classic into a sticky trap banger about messy breakups and loaded resolve.

You catch it right away—that infectious “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” hook looping like a fever dream, but DaBaby’s delivery turns it feral: half-braggadocio flex, half-heartbreak shrug. It’s peak Baby—bouncy 808s thumping under playful ad-libs (“Yeah, Bitch, Aah”), with a beat that snaps like fresh J’s on concrete. Genre-wise, it’s straight Charlotte trap laced with pop absurdity, self-produced vibes nodding to his early mixtape grit but polished for 2025 radio spins.

Thematically, it’s all tangled freedom: vowing not to chain down a lover (“I would never hold her back”), hollering for his BM and son amid gun-tucked paranoia, then flipping to sandwich-making whimsy before dipping out the telly. It’s vulnerable under the bravado—regret wrapped in revenge, superstition (“Lazy Larry superstitious”), and that million-dollar itch that keeps him moving. No features here; it’s pure DaBaby alchemy, teased on his Insta stories last week with clips of him in the booth, gunning for that viral TikTok stitch.

This one’s a standalone scorcher, no album tether yet, but it screams sequel to his April ’25 mixtape Please Say DaBaby Vol. 1, where he reclaimed the narrative post-scandals. Fans flooded the comments on the official video (out now on YouTube, racking 3M views overnight), hyping lines like “Fire on your ass, I’m not scared” as his slickest since “Suge.” It’s got that Nelly nod in the flows, too—pretty faith meets family-startin’ fire—proving he’s toying with melody more these days.

DaBaby’s hitting reset hard in ’25, off the ’24 backlash haze and therapy-fueled glow-up. The dude who sold out arenas off Baby on Baby is back leaner, meaner: sold-out pop-ups in ATL, collabs brewing with GloRilla whispers, and this drop timing perfect for holiday playlist chaos. It’s him evolving—less shock-jock, more storyteller with a shank—reminding us why he’s still the itch you can’t scratch.