Pooh Shiesty’s busting out the cage like a lion off the leash on “FDO,” his first single since that early October prison pop—December 12 via 1017 Records/Atlantic—and it’s pure Memphis menace, all blrrrd ad-libs and icy flexes that scream “the slime’s back, and he’s colder than ever.”
This one’s Shiesty reloaded: trap thunder courtesy of TP808, with booming 808s and hi-hats that snap like fresh bricks, his gravelly drawl weaving through bars that feel like a victory lap laced with venom. It’s straight Southern hood scripture—genre-wise, unfiltered street rap with that signature Shiesty snarl, directed by CottoOverDidIt into a visual feast of widebody whips and strip-club chaos.
Thematically, it’s first-day-out catharsis: shaking off fed dust for Cullinan convoys and hundred-throwin’ highs, but laced with that raw edge—grandma’s snake warnings, lost homies’ revenge plots, and a whole war raging while he paced the cell. Featuring frequent foil Big30 on the hook, it’s less party starter, more parole manifesto: impatient demos off the rip, allergic to Corvettes, and a reminder that his name’s got too much weight to fumble now. Dropped with a video that’s already at 2M YouTube views, fans flooded the comments with “free the goats no more” chants, turning snippets into car-rally reels overnight.
No album tether yet—this standalone scorcher’s the appetizer to whatever vault raid’s brewing, but it echoes his pre-bid heat like “Back in Blood” (that Durk diamond plaque just hit last month). Recorded fresh off his surprise early release—cut from 63 months to three years served—it’s Shiesty reclaiming the narrative, ditching the bunk for Mansory Maybachs and GP hits he ain’t sent in years. It’s evolution by endurance: the teen trapper who inked with Gucci in ’20 and lit up charts now spits like a CEO with scars, turning cell burpees into toned-up threats.
He’s hitting the ground sprinting at 25, house arrest papers be damned—Gucci’s welcome-home IG post went viral last fall, and now sold-out pop-ups from ATL to his Memphis roots are stacking. “FDO” ain’t just a return; it’s a receipt: richer in the feds, bulletproof strikers, and a gang reorg on Sundays. The crooked-letter king’s proving the streets chose him—now watch him paint ’em red again.
Dive into the FDO lyrics below and unpack its raw narrative. Don’t miss other Pooh Shiesty tracks for more of his unfiltered Memphis slime.
| Lead Vocals | Pooh Shiesty |
| Songwriter | Pooh Shiesty & TP808 |
| Music Producer | TP808 |
| Label | 1017 Records & Atlantic Records |
| Phonographic Copyright ℗ | 1017 Records & Atlantic Records |
| Distributor | Atlantic Records |
| Release Date | December 12, 2025 |
| Song Language | English |
| Copyright © | 1017 Records & Atlantic Records |
Lyrics of FDO by Pooh Shiesty
[Intro: Pooh Shiesty]
(Once Again, I’m Locked In With TP, We Finna Make A Hit) Pu**y Nigga, Blrrrd
[Verse: Pooh Shiesty & Big30]
Ayy, FDO, FTF, First Day Out, B**ch, F**k The Feds
Walked Out The Jail, I Saw Six Foreigns, I Just Got Out The Bunk Bed
Three Million Cash, Can’t Fit In The Hands, Then Sit Somethin’ On My Head
Bae, Come Put That Pu**y On Me, B**ch, I’m Fresh From Out The Feds (On God)
I Say Fresh From Out The Feds, Baby, Come Put That Pu**y On Me (Put That Pu**y On Me)
Turnt As F**k In The Strip Club, Ran Out Of Ones, Start Throwin’ Hundreds
Nigga, I Can’t Fumble Shit, The Whole World Been Waitin’ On It (Yup)
Tote That Knife All Way To R&D, Gave It To My Lil’ Homie, Nigga (Let’s Go)
Ain’t No More Mufasa, Mr. Goldman, I Catch Jets To Johnny (Yup)
Ain’t No More Outfits From Southland Mall, This Setup Made In London (Yup)
Couple Hoes Jumped Off My Bid, Majority Waited On Me (F**k ’em)
She Just Actin’ Faithful To You ’til I Get Home, Trust Me, Homie (I Stamp That)
Feel Impatient, I Might Do A Demonstration Off Gp (This One Here On Me)
I Ain’t Shot Nothin’ In Like Four Years, I Ain’t Sent A Hit In Three (On Gp)
Don’t Let Durk Verse Go To Your Head, Ain’t Nobody Slime As Me (I Stamp That)
I’m The One From ’round The Corner Where They Snake Martin Luther King (Yup)
Extra Aggressive Out In Traffic ’cause Hank Ain’t In The Backseat (Lil Hank)
Everywhere I Go, It’s Cars Trailin’ ’cause Reckless Ain’t Drivin’ Me (Long Live The Gang)
I Get Mad When I Look Around And My Members Ain’t Where They ‘posed To Me
A Whole War Goin’ On, I’m Stuck In The Cage, This Drove Me Crazy
(Genuine This Time, Shiesty, Stay Out The Way) 30, Pass Me That Drac’ (Blrrrd)
(Say, F**k The Hood, Memphis Ain’t Look Good) Get Your B**ch A*s Out My Face (Blrrrd)
Unfortunately, I’m Ceo And The Top Shooter For My Gang
My Grandma Told Me Keep My Grass Low, The Whole Time I’m The Snake (A Slime)
Smelled His Plot From Like Three Miles Away, You Can’t Outsnake A Snake
I Ain’t Choose The Streets, They Chose Me, Steppin’ On Shit My Lane
I Ain’t Choose To Rap, It Chose Me, My Name Had Too Much Weight
Type Influence I Got Where I’m From, Got Yo Gotti Totin’ A Drac’ (On God)
When You Meet Me, You Gon’ Get Real Motivated Same Day (On God)
Them Tear Drops Played Out, Go Get Your Favorite Bullet On Your Face (On God)
Do Not Rap When I Am Told, I Rap When I Got Shit To Say
Sf90, I’m Allergic To Corvettes, F**k A C8 (Lil’ Nigga)
This An F8, Not A C8, Nigga, Mansory Edition
And The Maymay, Oh My God, What Happened To Virgil Edition? (That Maybach)
And The Royroy Widebody, Cullinan, Black Badge Edition (That Rolls-royce)
And The Same Scat Pack Since I Left, That Mean You Stuck, Lil’ Nigga (Yup)
We All On A Race To The Top, These Niggas Stuck, Can’t Get No Bigger (Say What?)
I Got Richer While In Jail, Locked In The Feds Outdoin’ Niggas (On God)
Now My Watch Got On A Watch, My Chain Got More Chains Than You Niggas
Ain’t No Such Thing As Real Niggas, But I’m Down Showin’ Counterfeit
Hit Ten M’s In The Bank, Then Went Fed, Got Penitential Risks (Still Feel The Risks)
Orderin’ Ferraris Off A Jail Call, I’m Real Rich
Make Sure She Cover My Name Up, If You Plan On Keepin’ The B**ch (F**k Her)
I Signed A Deal, Then Went To Jail, They Ain’t Even See Me Pop My Shit (On Goddy)
I’m Just Not Buyin’ A Chain Didn’t Say My Name, I Been Bullshittin’
My Niggas Died While In Chains, Get Back Gang, I’m Right Back For Revenge (Gang, On Gang)
Ayy, I’m Just Way More Colder, Every Eight Hours I’m Changin’ Fits (What?)
Every Seven I Change The B**ch (What?), Nothin’ But Foreigns When We Change Lanes (Blrrrd)
Hood Poet, All This Juice I Drop, How You Ain’t Make A Change? (Goofy)
He Ain’t Dead, But I Got Niggas In The Feds Smokin’ Lil Wayne (Big Tunechi)
Soon I See My Memphis Homies, Ayy, Man, Say, Man (What Up?)
I Have Nine M’s To My Name, Makin’ Chee-cheese Out Your Bank
To Reorganize My Whole Gang, On Sunday, We Work On Our Aim (On God)
And Every Month On The Thirteenth, I’m Boppin’ Out With A New Chain
I Heard Street Niggas Gettin’ Tummy-Tucked,
Told You These Rappers Lame (Man, These Niggas Gay)
In My Cell, I Did A Thousand Burpees, I Toned Up My Frame
Fitted Suit On, Fitted Cap [?] ’bout This Richard Millie Plain (Yeah, This Plain Jane)
Them Steppers Who Got Him Served, They Was Doin’ For Lil’ Saint (Fbj And Saint Laurent)
See, My Daddy My First Co-d, Jumped In The Streets, He Showed Me Lanes (Them Facts)
Your Daddy A Killer, But You Ain’t Him, Just Like Bronny James (Bet)
I Asked Where She Want My Kids, She Told Me Grab The Brush And Paint
So I Aimed Right At Her Forehead And Tried To Spell Out My Name (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)
I Got Locked, Nigga Dropped Million Dollars Worth Salt Around My Gang
(Right There By My Name, Nigga)
Please Tell Me That Shit Fell Up Out They Pockets, Skinny Man
Please Tell These Rap Niggas Sayin’,
“Blrrrd” Without Permission That They Stealin’ (Blrrrd, Blrrrd, Blrrrd)
Memphis Menace, Kids Say No To Drugs And They Ain’t Right To Kill It (Blrrrd)
She Choose, But Her Lips Ain’t Move, I Read Her Eyes, They Said, “Pimp Me”
See, Bae, I’m Least Likely Some Pimpin’, But I’m More Likely A Bachelor
Super Shiesty, Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, David Banner (Slatt)
In The Trap, Feelin’ Like O Dog, Watchin’ Hits I Did On Camera (I Shoot Shit On Camera)
Out On Papers With A 922G Sittin’ On My Kennel (Say What?)
I’m Out On Papers With A Fully Arp Sittin’ On A Kennel (Blrrrd, That Blrrrd)
Ayy, You Think You Got More Shots Than CG? Come And Try Your Luck (Pu**y)
You Ain’t Never Bought No Crate Or No Grenade,
Shut The F**k Up (Shut Your Broke-ass Up, Nigga)
I Just Ordered A Gun Store, Nobody Ain’t Got More Chops Than Us (On God)
901, 375, 0762, Call My Bluff (Trap)
I Treat A Player Like A Player And The Custo Like A Cluck (You Need It)
You Need To Treat Your Glizzy Like A Collared Shirt And Button It Up (Ah, Ah)
I Treat Gangsters Like Civilians, I Treat Smart Niggas Like Ducks (Quack)
Long Story Short, Short Story Shorter, Nigga, I Cannot Be Touched (At All)
Cannot Slip Up, Can’t Get Down Busted, Can’t Go Out Sad, Can’t Get Out Far (F**k)
I Seek To See Girls On The Opps, She Left Her Airtag In His Glove Box (Slatt)
Kd Patient, He Might Spank ’em Next Year Or Tomorrow
I Took My Homie [?] Glock ’cause He Went Out Like Cheddar Bob (F**k Him)
Thank Every B**ch I Had To Shit On For These Foreigns In My Garage (They Custom)
Every B**ch Who Lost Faith In Me Named After One Of My Cars
With Y’all Stolo Still [?] Stuffin’ Zaza In Pickle Jars (Blrrrd, Blrrrd, Blrrd)
If My Drac’ Jam On Me, We Beefin’, I’ma Turn Kendrick Lamar
He Got His Car Flipped On Lamar, Died With His Gun, He Couldn’t Even Shoot
I’m Ceo, I Cannot Go, Even My Strikers Bulletproof
All My Hoes From Memphis Still Allowed To Call Me Mr. Pooh
Seven Foreigns Rose Gold, My First Day Out, Damn Fool, Blrrrd (Blrrrd, Blrrrd)
Rooster-ass Nigga
