[Intro – Snare roll, tambourine rhythm, gospel organ rising slow] Every king got a queen… But baby, not every queen wears it like you do. You don’t need diamonds to shine— You walk like royalty. You speak like a hymn. And me? I just thank the Lord I got to love a woman like you. ⸻ [Verse 1 – Groovy R&B rhythm, upright bass bouncing like New Orleans brass] She don’t ask to be seen— She walks in, and the room hushes clean. Got fire in her eyes and grace in her pace, And a heart so strong it could lift this whole place. Ain’t just pretty in heels, she’s sharp as a blade, Workin’ three jobs, still slayin’ unafraid. She don’t beg, don’t chase, don’t play no role, She owns her name like a woman born whole. ⸻ [Chorus – Southern gospel harmonies, triumphant tone like a coronation] She wears the crown, don’t need a throne, Built her castle outta grit and stone. Don’t wait for no rescue, don’t bow to no sound, She rules her life from the roots on down. With her baby on her hip and a dream in her chest, She fights like a warrior, still smiles like she’s blessed. I may be the king that folks talk about now— But make no mistake… She wears the crown. ⸻ [Verse 2 – Warm, poetic, romantic admiration in every line] She’s the whisper that calms me, the voice that don’t shake, The kind of love that don’t bend, don’t break. She taught me that strength ain’t loud—it’s still, That softness don’t mean weakness—it means will. She the reason I rise, the fuel in my prayer, She the storm and the calm, the wild and the care. And when she looks at me like I’m more than my past, It makes me wanna be a man that lasts. ⸻ [Chorus – Full choir-style harmony, rising like a Southern church in praise] She wears the crown, don’t need to be seen, She shines in sweatpants and a faded tee. Raised herself up, raised her babies too— Ain’t a thing on Earth that woman can’t do. And I’d trade my gold, my throne, my name, Just to wake up to her whisperin’ the same. I may lead the charge when they write this down— But baby… She wears the crown. ⸻ [Bridge – Spoken word, tender, hand over heart tone] This world don’t give women like you enough flowers. So I’ll plant a garden. I’ll sing your name in every note. Because what you carry? That’s legacy. That’s royalty. ⸻ [Final Chorus – Strip back to piano, raw vocals, heartfelt] She wears the crown—yeah, right here in my arms, Where her scars are sacred and her love disarms. She don’t need a ceremony, or crowd to astound— She just breathes… And the whole world bows down. She wears the crown. And I wear her love. And that’s enough. ⸻ [Outro – Southern guitar slide, soft organ chords, fading like dusk over bayou water] My queen. My fire. My forever. She wears the crown.