Amid the haze of Baton Rouge backstreets and the glare of courtroom spotlights, YoungBoy Never Broke Again has always spun his scars into anthems that hit like hollow points—sharp, unyielding, and impossible to ignore. “Vendetta,” the brooding centerpiece of his latest drop, feels like a midnight manifesto, where grudges simmer into gold chains and getaway cars, capturing that eternal push-pull between paranoia and prosperity. It’s YoungBoy peeling back the slime-season armor just enough to reveal the vendetta etched into his bones, a track that resonates for anyone who’s ever clutched a grudge like a lifeline. Fans diving deep into Vendetta lyrics by YoungBoy Never Broke Again are finding not just bars, but blueprints for bouncing back from betrayal.
| Lead Vocals | YoungBoy Never Broke Again |
| Songwriter | YoungBoy Never Broke Again |
| Music Producer | [TBA] |
| Label | Never Broke Again & Motown Records |
| Release Date | January 16, 2026 |
| Song Language | English |
| Copyright © | Never Broke Again |
| Distributor | Universal Music Group |
Lyrics of Vendetta by YoungBoy Never Broke Again
[Intro]
Woah, Woah, Woah, Woah (Lil Top, Nigga)
Woah, Woah (What You On?), Woah, Woah
Woah, Woah, Woah, Woah (This Northside, 38, Free Ddawg)
Woah, Woah (Lil Top, Nigga)
[Verse 1]
You Know Kentrell, You Know He Keep A Shovel
He Gon’ Keep His Distance, Even With Family, Like He Got A Vendetta
Yeah, Real Birdman, Pull Up And Change The Weather
What I Say? Hold On, Let Me Say It, Again, F**k You, We Can Do Whatever, Pu**y Nigga
Got My First Pistol From KD, I Went To Poppin’ With It
How The F**k You Poke Your Chest Out?
You Ain’t Got More Money Than Me, My Pockets Different
In The Murder Section, I Ain’t Got No Vest On
Murder Weapon, I Pop You With It
If I’m Gon Sleep, Then I Don’t Sleep Long, I’m A Hustler, I Got Visions
[Pre-Chorus]
I’m In A Million-dollar Car, No Tags
Phone Call, Another Bag
Bad B**ch, A Big A*s
We Both Done Took One Xan
I Be Outchea In These Streets, And I Don’t Hide From These Niggas (Don’t Hide)
I Got Twelve Cars And That’s Twelve Ways To Ride On These Niggas
[Chorus]
I Pull Up Dayton Vogues, And My Clothes Is The Finest
These Hoes And My Bros All Behind Me (All Behind Me)
Blue Lights, Oh, No, The Law Done Stopped Me (Woah, Woah, Woah)
I Just Know I’m Finna Go, All This Shit In My Pockets (Woah, Woah, Woah, Woah)
[Verse 2]
I Just Pulled Up In A Mulsanne, Baby, This A Big Bird
Baby, I Don’t Do Names, Really Don’t Wan’ Do Words
I Keep Open Heart Because I Need Somebody (Ooh)
Just Give Me Your Heart And You Won’t Need Nobody (Oh)
I’m A Gangster, Drop My Pin And Then I Switch Up My Location
If I Tell You, “I Need You,” You Should Believe, I Don’t Do No Fakin’
I Been Tryna Set The Plot To Rearrange, They Want My Placement
Anywhere I Bang, Every Opposition, I’m Tryna Get Replacement
I’m A Locksmith, Every Section Of The Frame, Not Complicated
Dedicated, I Demonstrated, Now I Got ’em Motivated
I’m Stimulated, Them Calls Waitin’
Them Pu**y Niggas Soldier Hatin’
They Can Tamper And Get Dismantled, I’m Gon’ Face ’em, B**ch
The Economy I Was Raised In, You Can’t Find No Authentication In
Authenticated, I Can’t Be Duplicated
I’m Steady Ponderin’, I Ain’t Situated
I’m Patiently Waitin’
Everything You Got, Just Know It’s Planned To Be Confiscated
When I Pull Up, I’m Confiscatin’
Ain’t Got No Time For No Conversations
Mi Familia I Kill Me Enemy, Now They Wan’ Investigate Me
Me Team In The Hood, They Die For Me, On Side Of Me Or Somewhere Near Me
Inside Me Ragin’, A Mystical Feelin’ In The Sky I’m Feelin’
My Brother, Mama Raised Me A Gangster, Everyday I Be Sinnin’
[Pre-Chorus]
I’m In A Million-dollar Car, No Tags
Phone Call, Another Bag
Bad B**ch, A Big A*s
We Both Done Took One Xan
I Be Outchea In These Streets, And I Don’t Hide From These Niggas
I Got Twelve Cars And That’s Twelve Ways To Ride On These Niggas
[Chorus]
I Pull Up Dayton Vogues, And My Clothes Is The Finest
These Hoes And My Bros All Behind Me (All Behind Me)
Blue Lights, Oh, No, The Law Done Stopped Me (Woah, Woah, Woah)
I Just Know I’m Finna Go, All This Shit In My Pockets (Woah, Woah, Woah, Woah)
[Refrain]
I Don’t Need Her (Need Her)
I Come From The Jungle, Told The B**ch, “I’m A Cheetah” (Cheetah)
“Who The Gun Owner?” And The B**ch Said, “Velveeta”
I Told Her To Leave, But I’m Stayin’ With My Liter
I’m Ridin’ In A V, I’m With Murder Amunita
[Verse 3]
She Call Me Deshawn, And She Weak, When I Leave Her
My Heart, It Ain’t Too Numb, If She Cheat, I Might Beat Her (Her)
Hold Up, Let Me Rethink, I Don’t Need Her
Inside My Molly, I Think This Pu**y-boy Put Fentanyl
(He Put What?)
Hold Up, Top-floor Boss, Five Bad B**ches, Five Sticks In The Truck
I’m The Man, Can’t Go, Now, Nigga Playin’, Pull Up, I’ma Hit A B**ch With One
Nigga, Add That Up Thirty Million Re
Five Million On A Condo I Ain’t Never See
Oughta Go For To Think And Smoke My Weed
Bad B**ch From The Back And Watch The Seat
[Refrain]
I Don’t Need Her (Need Her)
I Come From The Jungle, Told The B**ch, “I’m A Cheetah”
“Who The Gun Owner?” And The B**ch Said, “Velveeta” (‘veeta)
I Told Her To Leave, But I’m Stayin’ With My Liter
I’m Ridin’ In A V, I’m With Murder Amunita
[Chorus]
Dayton Vogues And My Clothes Is The Finest
These Hoes And My Bros All Behind Me
Blue Lights, Ah, Man, The Law Done Stopped Me
I Just Know I’m Finna Go, All This Shit In My Pockets
[Outro]
Huh
Huh, Woah, Velveeta
Huh, What Ya On, 5? (Woah, Slime, Top, Haha)
Play Me, I’ma Go, When It, It’s On
Nigga, I Prefer Black Prada
Slatt, Slatt, Slatt, Slatt
Huh, Huh, Oh, Woah (I’m A Motherf**kin’ Problem, Nigga)
I’m Lil Top, Woah, Huh
On Kacey, This To Choppaboy, You Know?
Huh, Free Vaughn
About “Vendetta by YoungBoy Never Broke Again”
YoungBoy Never Broke Again channels raw vendetta into “Vendetta,” a trap odyssey where luxury masks the grind and every ad-lib echoes like a loaded clip—haunting, hypnotic, and heavy with intent.
What makes “Vendetta” tick is its seamless fusion of trap’s thunderous low-end—those rumbling 808s courtesy of in-house beatsmiths—with YoungBoy’s half-sung confessions that twist vulnerability into venom. Thematically, it’s a vendetta unpacked: family fractures, street codes enforced with shovels and switches, all laced with flashes of fleeting romance and felony-fueled visions. The mood? Electric tension, like idling in a no-tags Bentley at a red light, heart pounding as sirens wail in the distance. Production stays intimate yet immense, layering auto-tuned whispers over orchestral swells that nod to his evolution from juvenile rawness to calculated chaos.
Tucked into Slime Cry, YoungBoy’s ninth studio album and a Motown/Never Broke Again joint that’s already shattering streaming records, “Vendetta” embodies the project’s core pulse: crying out the slime, where brotherhood bleeds into betrayal and redemption rides shotgun. Clocking in at 30 tracks of unfiltered fury and fragile hope, Slime Cry is his most introspective since The Last Slimeto, weaving tales of masked emotions (“Mask and Gloves”) with unapologetic flexes like “Love Speaks.” It’s artistic therapy in slime tongue—a vision of healing through havoc, born from sessions that blurred studio walls and cell bars.
Unleashed on January 16 alongside the full album rollout, “Vendetta” hit Spotify like a heatwave, amassing over 20 million streams in 24 hours and fueling TikTok dissections of lines like “Mi familia I kill me enemy.” No guest spots dilute the solo spotlight, but the visual treatment—shot in stark Louisiana nights—teases a narrative arc tying into the season’s slime lore.
Now 26 and navigating house arrest like a boss-level side quest, YoungBoy’s in full phoenix mode, dropping Slime Cry as his 20th project in half a decade—a testament to turning trials into timestamps. “Vendetta” spotlights his growth: sharper storytelling, less scattershot rage, more meditative menace that bridges his teen mixtape mayhem with matured menace. In a discog stacked with essentials like Sincerely, Kentrell, it carves a new notch, proving he’s not just surviving the game but scripting its next chapter—one confiscated plot at a time.
Beyond the bravado, “Vendetta” probes deeper wounds: the cheetah instincts from jungle roots, the fentanyl fears in a pill-pop haze, all while flipping enemies into estate investments. As beef echoes fade and collabs whisper (shoutout to the free Vaughn dedications), it stands as a cultural checkpoint—YoungBoy reminding us that in rap’s vendetta vortex, the real win is rewriting your origin story. With Slime Cry dominating Billboard’s hip-hop charts out the gate, expect this to soundtrack a thousand late-night drives, vendettas resolved in rearviews.
YoungBoy’s command of the mic hasn’t wavered; if anything, confinement’s honed it to a blade’s edge, making every release feel like contraband gold.
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