2026 - BabyTron: Song Lyrics, Music Videos & Concerts

2026

299

Hip-Hop/Rap

2026 was released on February 27, 2026 by The Hip Hop Lab Records / EMPIRE as a part of the album Out On Bond Again

Song Details

AlbumOut On Bond Again

Release DateFebruary 27, 2026

LabelThe Hip Hop Lab Records / EMPIRE

LanguageEnglish

Melodicness

Acousticness

Valence

Danceability

Energy

BPM96

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

BabyTron

Vocals

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

James Johnson IV

James Johnson IV

Composer

Bernabe Rivas

Composer

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

Getta Beats

Producer

Stefan Daniel Mitroi

Stefan Daniel Mitroi

Mixing Engineer

MarleyBeatz

Recording Engineer

Lyrics

[Intro]

Getta Beats

Yeah, aye, aye, yeah

[Verse 1]

Dude a bot, he be movin' like a Sims player

It ain't not a breeze, 5 thousand on the windbreaker

You don't know BabyTron? Shit, I'm your bitch favorite

Pop spilled everywhere, you'd think that it was kids playin'

I'm in the spot with some missed free throws

She got her own cash, I can dig this bitch steelo

Pro-Padded, doggy probably think his whip repo'ed

A click triangle on the door, I bet you get your whip Deebo'd

Cuddy old school, his jack got the flip ringtone

We scratched five back to back, I guess I hit bingo

He died with a load out, he shoulda hit reload

Break a bitch mind into two, she got a split ego

Early pourin' syrup up, but naw, it ain't Eggo

Tell Myles Turner send that hunnid while he play Legos

Why you sendin' texts from an email? Go pay Metro

I hope my ex sips a glass of Coke eating eight Mentos

My Ying plug ain't even Asian, look like Jay Leno

I'ma cut your hand off, you try and pass a grape Rillo

Dudey died off a 15, he popped a fake Melo

I just poured a seven, that's a Kiyan of that straight yellow

The pop started red, but I turned it Syracuse

You would think the blue hit with some Seroquel

It's a Terps universe, I got a fear of boof

10 and 2, I see the troops, I'm glued to the steering wheel

Should I rock the black Buffs or play the Jorjianas?

He blowin' all this pape on pussy, them some horny dollars

Shit, I heard he down to forty dollars

My ho pulled up with her best friend, I pulled an orgy out 'em

The psilocybin got me high flyin', Sin Cara

I go SKIMS beaters and the drawls, you would hit Zara

I got my granny doin' fraud, talkin' 'bout, "It's Barbara"

I've been juggin' aunties all week, this my sixth Martha

This ain't your ordinary Wrangler, it's a Hellfire

6v6 scratch off and all you smell's tires

Yo' bank, it's been negative for months, I know your Zelle tired

We probably talkin' 7.5, my last twelve wires

I'm talkin' M's, act weird, won't talk again

It's just me and my dead friend, I'm havin' talks with Ben

The double-H matte black, but that Trackhawk was red

The last person talkin' out they neck, damn near smacked off his head

You a madman to play the black off some regs

Sleeve Nash, I might spread the stacks on my legs

The Hellpup barkin' like it's trapped in the shed

7 in the mornin', yo' ho gettin' cracked like a egg

Put a tax on the bag, wax on the glass

I just know a rash on his ass, he don't change his drawls

I go Wreck-It Ralph on a bitch, I'm breakin' walls

I ain't fakin' not a word, I'd rather not just take the call

Wipe Your Ass Boyz, we poppin' kill switches

Yeah, I'm with the strike ya cap boyz

I'll make you buy it back, boy

Why they playin' with the gang? They still ain't find the last boy

Finna turn it to the max, I'm actin' like I'm PlaqueBoy

.300 Blackouts with the flames, they flyin' like an asteroid

Ha, you ain't turnt all the way, it's only givin' sorta

I'm rockin' fat foreign shoes, I guess the kicks some tortas

Uppin' chicken like a farm, ain't tryna get no aura

The way I snatch around the curb, you'd think the whip from Forza

Told my bitch pack her bags, we finna take that trip to Bora Bora

700 just to build a crib in Georgia

You know your baby Za Morant might drop a crib in Florida

I ask a bitch, "Heads or tails?" Then just flip a quarter

If it land face down, I bet I slam her till the morning

You know that it's a good year, the Pistons first seed

I wasn't even a preteen when I lit my first weed

Like, I wasn't even five

[Verse 2]

When I made my first ten, I wasn't even nine

You grind my gears wrong, I'm turnin' you to sawdust

180-day grind, that's what you call crunch

How you doin' all that dick suckin' but ain't pause once?

Like, at least a "no-Diddy"

If I don't spend a hunnid racks, at least gon' blow fifty

If she ain't throw her panties on stage, she show titties

Boy, you don't know Trizzy, you don't know Jimmy

So who you know, silly?

The plug throwin' Denver bows, I guess he Bo Nix-ing

Neph just touched down in TX like he Joe Mixon

I just know he fucked up, it's once a year he post pictures

Talkin' 'bout a golden shower, man, these hoes trippin'

Rollin' up a blunt of skunk, hit the road, kill it

I ain't no critic, but you should go get it

Hunnid percent from the field, I'm talkin' no misses

My young bull crashin' out, all he post switches

After this lil' tape I drop, I might go missing

[Outro]

Shitty Boyz, Dog $hit Militia, long live $cam

RIP Chris, T-double-H-L shit

You hip, skip? You know the script?

Wipe Ya Ass Boyz, Clear That Tab clan, huh

Yeah, 2026 shit

Written by: Bernabe Rivas, James Johnson IV

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