[Intro – Gator Growl + Church Organ]
[Water bubbling slowly]
Some prayers sound beautiful.
[Bass enters low]
Louisiana prayers?
They got teeth.
⸻
[Verse 1]
🎶
Alligator psalms underneath black skies,
Gold teeth gleam where the floodwater rise.
Swamp-born prophet with ceremonial scars,
Talk slick but the spirit move dark.
Mon Dieu, the river smell restless tonight,
Crows fly circles in crooked lines.
Grandmère said:
“Cher, watch the animals close—
they know things before people.”
Now every gator eye in the marsh glow wise,
Like old souls trapped inside.
I got graveyard rhythm in my bloodstream,
That’s why my nightmares move cinematic.
Funeral smoke drift through the magnolias,
Whole atmosphere spiritually loaded.
I rap humid ‘cause the swamp raised me,
Even my silence sound ancient lately.
🎶
⸻
[Hook – Choir + Ritual Drums]
🎶
Alligator psalms through the rain tonight…
Black water prayers underneath moonlight.
Alligator psalms still hum low…
Louisiana inside my soul.
🎶
⸻
[Verse 2]
🎶
I’m from where old men fish in silence long,
Like grief itself taught patience.
Where mothers pray over sleeping children,
Like the storm might enter through dreams.
Flow got mildew and gospel tension,
Every metaphor swamp-dimensioned.
I got alligator instincts near betrayal,
Move calm but the soul still fatal.
Shorty from St. Martinville held my face,
Said:
“Cher, you carry too much weight.”
I laughed:
“That’s just family tradition.”
Then stared too long at the kitchen flames.
Truth is—
the South made me superstitious.
Too many warnings arrived accurate.
Too many dreams turned documentary,
Too many ghosts felt ordinary.
🎶
⸻
[Bridge – Spoken + Organ]
Down here…
survival became scripture.
And scripture became instinct.
🎶
Black river breathe beneath the trees…
Every ancestor walk with me.
🎶
⸻
[Verse 3]
🎶
So now I pray different than I used to.
Less polished.
More honest.
More Southern.
I pray:
“Lord keep the envy distant.
Keep the floodwalls standing.
Keep my people breathing.
Keep my spirit from hardening.”
And somehow…
those prayers feel enough.
Because Louisiana taught me:
God still listen to muddy voices too.
🎶
⸻
[Final Hook – Full Orchestra + Choir]
🎶
Alligator psalms still rise slow…
Through the blackwater undertow.
Alligator psalms through the pain…
Swamp-born souls still pray.
🎶
⸻
[Outro – Water Ripples + Thunder]
[Gator slides beneath water]
Some scriptures written in ink.
Ours got written in mud.
