Crown of the Crescent

Born where the river turns black as sin
In a shotgun shack with the paint worn thin
No silver spoon, just a rusted blade
I learned the price of every hand that’s played.
The Crescent City didn't owe me a dime
I spent my youth tradin’ blood for time
Down in the Vieux Carré, where the shadows creep
I learned to walk while the law was fast asleep.
​
Now they call me "Sir" when I stroll the lane
I washed my soul in the warm Big Easy rain.
From the gutter to the throne, yeah, I climbed the wall
I’m the king of the swamp, and I’m standin’ tall.
Got that Gris-gris luck and a heart of stone
I’m the baddest cat that this town has ever known.
​
I remember the hunger, the hollow sound
Of a boy with nothing, just prowlin' around.
I did the dirty work, the hustle and the grind
Left the weak and the weary way back behind.
Now I wear the silk and a sharp Italian brim
If you cross my line, boy, the lights get dim.
I ain't no Lagniappe, I’m the whole damn prize
You can see the graveyard livin’ in my eyes.
​
Listen to the brass, hear the coronet blow
I run this ward from the high to the low.
They whisper my name in the backroom bars
Underneath the neon and the humid stars.
Yeah, I’m "The Man" now, can’t you see?
The whole Bywater bows its knee to me.
​
So pour me a bourbon, keep the glass bone dry
I earned every scar, and I ain't gonna lie.
I’m proud of the mud, I’m proud of the grit
I took the hand I was dealt and I didn't quit.
I’m a Big Shot now, with a heavy-duty ring
In this city of ghosts, I’m the only livin’ king.
​
Yeah... respect is earned.
Or it’s taken.
I took mine.

Welcome to New Orleans, son.
Watch your step.

male, 50’s, New Orleans R&B blues, dark, deep vocals, grit, soul, cigarette air, melodic, harmonica, swampy