Dylan Pickle Blues

Yeah, yeah,

uh— Dylan Pickle in the building…

Well, technically, he’s not in the building.

He’s in a building. (hahaha)

Dylan Pickle came straight from the hood,

Talked real tough like a bad dude should,

Two people gone, now the judge said “Look,” “Son,

you’re gonna be here longer than your TikTok took.” He had big

dreams, wanted chains and a Benz,

Now he’s making commissary friends,

Asked for some ketchup,

they said, “That’s ten,” Dylan said,

“Bro, I’m broke!” — then he dropped his pen.

Dylan Pickle, Pickle in the pen,

Counting little squares like,

“When’s this gonna end?” From the hood to the cell,

yeah, life took a turn,

Now his biggest beef is when the microwave burns.

Dylan Pickle, everybody knows his name,

He wanted street fame,

but he got court fame,

Two murders on his case,

now he’s playing it cool,

But he still gets nervous when they say “follow the rules.”

He walks in the yard like he runs the place,

Then a bird flies by and he makes a scared face,

Talking real tough with a serious stare,

Then somebody asks, “Who ate my pear?” Dylan’s got bars,

but they’re not on a track,

They’re on the windows,

and they don’t slide back,

He said, “I’m innocent!” with a confident grin,

Then remembered halfway through— “Wait… I should probably not say that again.”

So here’s to Dylan,

the Pickle of the block,

Serving up time instead of serving up rock,

He wanted respect, wanted money,

wanted fame, Now everybody laughs when they hear his name.

Dylan Pickle—legend in the cell,

Living proof that sometimes life goes straight to jail.

Two lives lost, and the jokes gotta end—

But somebody please tell Dylan:

“Stop trying to make bail with Monopoly money,

my friend.”