Fredo’s back in the saddle with “Runnin’,” his freshest single blasting out yesterday via Biordi Music, a gritty UK drill anthem that’s got the streets buzzing like a fresh beef alert—equal parts warning shot and victory lap, with that relentless chorus chasing shadows through the fog.
This one’s pure Fredo fire: a booming trap-drill hybrid cooked up by producers Drenbeats, Rilbeats, and Trucky, all thumping bass and snappy snares that hit like knuckles on a car hood. Dropped with a DON Productions video that’s already racking views—think hazy London nights, quick cuts of masked figures dipping through alleys, syncing to Fredo’s half-sung bars that drip with sarcasm and steel.
Lyrics of Runnin by Fredo
[Chorus]
They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’,
They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’ Again
Hm, We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’,
We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’ For Them
Hm, They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’,
They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’ Again
Hm, We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’,
We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’ For Them
[Verse]
Nah, This Ain’t A Diss (No)
But You Rappers Are Takin’ The Piss (Piss)
Now, I’m Aimin’, I Ain’t Gonna Miss
Yeah, You Know How I Handle My Biz’ (I Handle)
Ba Finally Got Him A Check (Huh)
Now He’s All On That Gossipy Shit (Coward)
Like He Ain’t Been Livin’ His Whole Life Beggin’ For Food Like He’s Oliver Twist
In That Yellow Lamb’, That’s A Polony Whip
Fredo, The Boss Of The Strip (Boss)
Yeah, He Said My Name Out In Public,
So I Told My Savage, “It’s Gotta Be Quick”
If I Keep Up The Pressure, They’ll Prob’ly Snitch
I Got The Drop On Your Crib (Shh)
Niggas Be Acting Like Gangstas
But No, That’s Not What It Is (No)
If Marlow Ain’t Been Gettin’ Robbed Every Other Week,
He’ll Probably Be Lit
I Guess We Won’t Know, ’cause That Donny’s A Victim
Big Freddie, I’m Back On My Shit (Back)
Not Too Long ’till I’m Back On My Strip (Strip)
Little Bro Got A Mac In The Whip
Think They Hate ’cause These Racks On My Wrists
And I Open Up Chicks Like The Packets Of Crisps
Woah (Woah), Fist Is Home,
But He Ain’t Tryna Go And Get Back For His Niggas
Too Busy Showing Off His Back With The Ribs
Damn, I Know That Max Would Be Pissed (Pissed)
I’m Maxing My Jibs, Niggas Maxing Their Dibs
I Feel Actually Tricked, Niggas Actin’ Like Crips (Huh?)
When Deep Down, They Got A Passion For Jumpin’ On Crocodiles’
Backs In The Sticks (The F**k?)
Kinda Gangsta Is This?
Niggas Nerdy And Certainly Rookies
Are You Gangstas Or Personal Bookies?
Got Lo, And We Turned Him To Cookies
Now The Broskis Are Burnin’ Their Hoodies And Phonin’ For Goodies,
You Know How It Goes (You Know How It Goes)
But I Heard You Ain’t Playin’ Your Role (Role)
So, No, Maybe You Don’t (Don’t)
Oh (Oh, Oh, Oh), Okay, She Was Talkin’ Like She’ll Manage The D**k
Put Her On Her Back, Went In Real Deep, Legs Shakin’ Like She’s Havin’ A Fit
Heard That They Both Got A Show, So I Pattern That Quick
Boy, Don’t Be Lackin’ For Chicks
If I Had A Pound For Every Time I Put My **** On The Six,
I’d Be Actually Rich (I Am Though)
They’re Runnin’, And Runnin’, And Runnin’,
I’m Talkin’ About Clavish’s Clique (Clique)
All They Wanted Was Maccie And Chips
Ended Up In The Back With The Dips (Ha)
And My Baddie Don’t Have Any Tits,
But Makes Up For This With Her Back And Her Hips (She Does)
Still Offin’ A Whole Load Of Cargo,
Just Gave Three Hundred Racks To Ricardo (I Did It)
We’re Drinkin’ Tonight, Told Her “I Ain’t Even Drivin’,
Let’s Book The Viano” (Book It)
She Told Me I’m Lookin’ So Gangster And Grown
When I Rock That Loro Piana
My Youngin Just Got Him A Cuban
Didn’t Buy It, He Stole It From Marlow (Haha)
Just Sent A Lil’ Youngin To O, But He Can’t Even Go To Chicago (No)
[Chorus]
Hm, They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’,
They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’ Again (Again)
Hm, We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’,
We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’ For Them (For ‘dem)
Hm, They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’,
They’re Runnin’, They’re Runnin’ Again (Again)
Hm, We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’,
We’re Gunnin’, We’re Gunnin’ For Them (For ‘dem)
About “Runnin by Fredo”
Thematically, it’s a masterclass in calling out the fakes: no straight diss, but a sly roast of “gossipy” rivals begging like Oliver Twist, flashing rented whips while snitching under pressure. Lines like “Niggas actin’ like Crips when deep down they got a passion for jumpin’ on crocodiles’ backs” land with that sharp wit, blending braggadocio on racks and rides with jabs at disloyal crews—Clavish’s clique gets a nod, turning holiday chips into back-end dips.
It’s Fredo unpacking the game’s illusions, from stolen Cubans to Viano nights, all wrapped in a hook that’s engineered for TikTok loops and late-night spins. Fans flooded his Insta after the preview tease, hyping the return of that unfiltered edge he’s been teasing since last year’s quiet spell.
No album tie-in here—just a standalone heater signaling Fredo’s pivot to more drops, after “No Comment” lit up August ’25 and fans clamored for the consistent bars he promised. The Tottenham trap king, who went from mixtape menace with 2018’s Get Rich or Cry Tryin’ to chart-topping collabs on Dave’s Money Can’t Buy Happiness, has been grinding through hiatuses, dodging drama, and stacking wins like those 300 racks to Ricardo. This lands him at a crossroads: fresh off sold-out O2 slots and viral feuds that keep the lore alive, he’s reclaiming the throne with rawer flows and zero fluff. It’s the evolution of a street poet who’s seen the strip’s underbelly, now dishing truths over beats that bang from council flats to global streams—proving UK rap’s heavyweights don’t fade, they reload.
Dive into the Runnin lyrics below and unpack its raw narrative. Don’t miss other Fredo tracks for more of his streetwise drill grit.
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