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Pooh Shiesty Writes Banger Diss Track From Prison, Forgets He’s Facing 63 Years

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Pooh Shiesty Writes Banger Diss Track From Prison, Forgets He’s Facing 63 Years

Pooh Shiesty Writes Banger Diss Track From Prison, Forgets He’s Facing 63 Years

Look, I’m not saying the American prison system is a joke, but when a rapper who is literally staring down a 63-year federal sentence drops a fire diss track from behind bars, you have to admit the comedy writes itself. Pooh Shiesty, the Memphis rapper famous for making “Back In Blood” a TikTok anthem and equally famous for allegedly shooting a security guard in the buttocks, has done it again. Except this time, he’s not dropping a drill beat video with 15 dudes in ski masks. He’s dropping a diss track from the federal pen, and the internet is eating it up like a bag of gas station hot fries.

Here’s the situation for anyone who just crawled out from under a rock: Pooh Shiesty (real name Lontrell Williams Jr.) is currently serving a 63-month sentence for a federal firearms charge. Yeah, 63 months. That’s five years and change. But hold your applause, because he’s also got that little issue of a pending case in Florida where he’s accused of shooting a security guard in the leg during a botched robbery of a Miami mall parking lot. The alleged victim? A dude who was just trying to do his job and got a bullet in the ass for his trouble. Classy.

So last week, Pooh Shiesty drops a new track from prison called “Tax Free,” and let me tell you, it’s a banger. The beat is hard, the flow is crisp, and the lyrics are... well, they’re about how he’s still a real gangster and everyone else is a rat. He calls out specific people, talks about his “real” time, and basically tells the whole world that he’s still the man, even though he’s currently wearing a state-issued jumpsuit and eating bologna sandwiches. It’s the musical equivalent of a dude flexing his Rolex while his car is being repossessed.

But here’s where it gets good. The track is produced by his label, and it’s already gotten millions of streams. Fans are going absolutely feral. TikTok is flooded with edits of him rapping over footage of him in court looking like he just ate a bad burrito. Comments sections are full of kids saying “free him” and “he’s a legend.” Meanwhile, the actual victim of the shooting is probably still doing physical therapy. Priorities, people.

Now, I’m no legal expert, but I’m pretty sure that when you’re facing decades in prison, the smartest move is to keep your head down, stay quiet, and maybe write a heartfelt apology letter to the guy whose glutes you ventilated. But Pooh Shiesty decided to go the other direction. He decided to write a diss track. From prison. Where the government can read every single word he writes. It’s like he’s daring the prosecutor to add another charge. “Oh, you’re already facing 63 years? Here, have 63 more for contempt.”

The best part is the content of the track. He spends most of it calling out other rappers for being “rats” and “snitches,” which is hilarious considering that literally everyone in the hip-hop industry knows that the only way you’re getting out of a federal gun charge is by cooperating. It’s like a guy who just got caught stealing a car screaming “YOU’RE A THIEF!” at someone else. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a cracker.

And the internet? Oh, the internet is having a field day. AITA forums are quietly being flooded with posts like, “AITA for laughing at a rapper who shot a security guard and is now recording a diss track from prison?” The consensus is pretty much a solid “YTA, but also it’s funny, so NTA.” Reddit threads are full of people arguing about whether this is “real hip-hop” or just a cry for attention. Spoiler: it’s both.

But let’s be real for a second. This isn’t just about a rapper being dumb. This is about a culture that glorifies violence and then acts surprised when people get violent. Pooh Shiesty is a product of a system that tells young Black men that the only way to make it is to be the toughest, the hardest, the most dangerous. And then when they act on that, we lock them up and throw away the key. It’s a tragedy wrapped in a meme. But hey, the beat is fire.

The track also features a line that’s going viral: “I’m in the feds, but I’m still the head / They thought I was dead, but I’m still in the lead.” I mean, you’re in the lead of a prison yard, buddy. You’re literally in a cage. But I guess when you’re facing 63 years, you have to find some way to cope. Maybe he’s just writing his own soundtrack for the next five decades of his life. The “2025 Yard Work Anthem.”

The real question is: will this help his case? Absolutely not. The prosecutor is probably listening to this track in his office, laughing, and adding it to evidence. “Your honor, here is exhibit A: the defendant, while incarcerated, released a diss track celebrating his gangster lifestyle. We’d like to increase his bail to $10 million.” Good luck, Pooh.

But you know what? I respect the hustle. The man is facing decades in prison, and instead of crying or getting a law degree, he’s making music. He’s providing for his family, sort of, assuming his label pays him. He’s giving the people what they want: toxic, violent, unapologetic energy. It’s the same energy that got him into this mess, but hey, consistency is key.

At the end of the day, Pooh Shiesty is a cautionary tale wrapped in a diss track. He’s a reminder that fame and money don’t fix stup

Final Thoughts


Having covered the rise and fall of countless street figures, I’d argue Pooh Shiesty’s case is a raw, cautionary tale of how the very authenticity that fuels an artist’s meteoric rise in hip-hop can become the legal noose that seals his downfall. His music was a visceral, unflinching diary of his life, but when the fedoras and the prosecutors started playing it in court, the line between art and confession vanished, leaving him with a sentence that reads like the final, grim verse of a track he never intended to write. Ultimately, the industry will profit off his name and his likeness for years to come, but for Shiesty himself, the price of that street credibility was a decade behind bars—a cost that no number of platinum plaques can ever cover.