Pooh Shiesty tells his grandma he’ll cut his dreads off after she tells him she doesn’t like his hairstyle [VIDEO]

The Memphis rapper’s homecoming clip shows him turning from street legend to grandma’s grandbaby after she disapproved of his new look

Pooh Shiesty’s first 24 hours home gave the internet a moment you can’t script. In a short video posted October 8, the Memphis rapper leans over to greet his grandmother at a family gathering when she locks eyes on his fresh twists and makes a face only elders can make. Shiesty laughs, leans in closer and fires back with pure respect: “You don’t like dreads? I’ll cut them off.” It’s playful, it’s tender—and it instantly reset the timeline from “free Shiesty” memes to “this the realest welcome home.”

What you don’t see in the clip tells just as much. He instinctively tugs his shorts up as he approaches her, the universal Southern signal that no amount of platinum plaques outranks granny’s house rules. The room’s energy flips from loud to light; friends holler, aunties cackle, and grandma ends up laughing too. It’s a 17-second master class in how quickly tough-guy armor melts when matriarchs speak.

Numbers followed the feeling. The post raced past a million views in hours and piled up replies celebrating that familiar pressure only grandmothers can apply. For Shiesty—who’s had three years of headlines he didn’t control—it was the perfect first image to lead a new chapter: humble, grateful and home.

The Release Behind the Moment

Lontrell Donell Williams Jr., better known as Pooh Shiesty, walked out of federal custody October 6–7 after serving roughly three years of a 63-month sentence for conspiracy to possess firearms in furtherance of a drug-trafficking crime tied to a 2020–21 Miami incident. Records show he’d been housed at FCI Edgefield in South Carolina since spring 2022; earned time credits and good behavior put him on the street a few months early.

His return lands four years removed from the breakout that made him a mainstream name. “Back in Blood” went platinum, the 1017/Atlantic run was heating up, and Memphis had another national voice. The bid stalled all of that, and a lot of people quietly wondered whether the music, the momentum—or the man—would sound the same when he came home.

If the videos from his first night are any indicator, the circle never closed. Family packed the house. Day-ones pulled up. There were hugs that lasted too long, plates that stayed too full, and the kind of laughter you only hear after a storm passes. No press conference. No staged roll-out. Just a rapper who survived a hard stretch and the people who kept a plate warm for him.

Why the Grandma Moment Hit So Hard

There’s a reason that 17 seconds felt bigger than another “rapper’s home” clip. In Black families—and hip-hop by extension—grandmothers are moral authority, comic relief, and anchor all at once. They can scold you with an eyebrow, fix your plate with the other hand, and remind you who you are in a single sentence. That dynamic shows up everywhere: pants get pulled up, voices get lowered, egos get resized. The internet recognized it instantly.

The hair specifically adds a layer. Before prison, Shiesty kept a sharp fade; coming home with starter dreads signals time passing and growth—literal and figurative. For many elders, locs read as “new school,” not “Sunday-service clean,” so the gentle roast felt authentic, not manufactured drama. His reply—“I’ll cut them off”—wasn’t capitulation; it was love language. He was saying, your comfort matters to me, even as the room cheered him to keep them.

It also reframed his public image in a way PR can’t buy. In one exchange he wasn’t a headline, a case number, or a stat in a talking point about crime. He was a grandson. A young Black man choosing grace in a culture that often rewards the opposite. After years of footage that only caught the worst day, this clip finally caught the everyday.

What Fans Are Saying

The replies were a clinic in cultural shorthand. The most-liked comments all share the same thesis: no matter how famous you are, granny will humble you. Users joked about how fast he pulled up his shorts, how every grandmother has a lifelong contract to comment on hair, and how the face she made was every grandma everywhere. The tone wasn’t mocking; it was relief—this feels like home.

Another wave rejoiced simply at seeing him free and smiling. Fans referenced the tearful hug with Big 30 from companion clips, posted old “Back in Blood” verses like they were fresh, and imagined the inevitable studio lock-in. A smaller chorus clowned the “bid bod,” because the internet will be the internet, but even those posts ended with “congrats” and “stay focused” energy.

There were also a few familiar debates—why communities cheer an artist’s release more loudly than a college graduation; whether dreads help or hurt perception; what responsibility rappers owe their youngest fans now. That’s the point, though. The video cracked the door for real conversations in a way mugshots never do.

The Music Business Part You Can’t Ignore

Beyond the heartwarming virality, this is also a career reset. Shiesty returns to a streaming landscape that moves faster than ever, but his name still drives engagement and his voice still sits comfortably in Memphis’ gritty pocket. Labels notice when family-first moments outperform brand campaigns. If his team is smart, they’ll let the humanity lead and build the music around it.

Expect a staggered roll-out rather than a flood. A table-setting single with a hometown visual. A Big 30 record that feels like a reunion, not a stunt. Possibly a Gucci Mane cameo to remind folks where 1017’s scouting eye still points. The lane is open: authentic street perspective, updated with self-awareness, and a narrative that doesn’t pretend the last three years didn’t happen.

The only non-negotiable is caution. Probation terms are probation terms, and the easiest way to slow momentum is to treat freedom like a set piece. If the first clip home is any sign, he gets it. Keep your head down. Keep your head up. And keep grandma smiling.

Culture Notes: Hair, Respect and the South

Locs remain a live wire in Black culture, especially across generations. For elders shaped by respectability politics and workplace discrimination, “neat” once meant survival. For younger artists, wearing locs means lineage, faith, or simply style. This tiny, funny family debate captures that ongoing dialogue better than any think-piece because it lives in affection, not argument.

The Southernness of it all matters, too. From the way he softened his tone to the way the room rallied around grandma’s verdict, this was Memphis through and through—church-hat manners in a trap-house world. Rappers from the South have always balanced those poles. You can hear it in old UGK interviews and see it in every time a star pauses mid-club walk-through to hug an auntie.

And it’s the kind of content algorithms can’t fake. The internet drinks up authenticity, then spends a week trying to recreate it. This wasn’t a skit; it was a kitchen-table memory that just happened to hit the For You page.

What’s Next For Pooh Shiesty

There’s real opportunity in letting this energy set the tone. A candid sit-down addressing the bid, a promise to family, and a focus on craft could pull skeptical listeners back in while keeping day-ones close. Pair that with a sound that remembers why his early run worked—dark piano loops, punctuated pockets, unhurried menace—and the comeback writes itself.

Touring will come, but patience will matter. The smartest first stage is regional: Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas, the Carolinas—rooms where the crowd knows your ad-libs and your aunt’s name. Give the cameras more family moments than club backrooms and the brand builds itself.

And yes, the hair question will keep popping up. That’s fine. Whether he keeps the locs or not, the line that matters already landed: grandma’s opinion is never just about style—it’s about staying alive long enough to have one. If he carries that lesson into the booth, the music will sound like growth.