[Intro – Candles Crackling + Swamp Sounds]
[Bones rattling softly]
Grandmère said:
“Never walk the swamp empty-handed.”
[Low bass pulse enters]
So I brought gold teeth…
bad habits…
and a prayer.
⸻
[Verse 1]
🎶
Gris-gris gospel underneath moonlight skies,
Black candles glow in my alligator eyes.
Swamp-born prophet in crocodile leather,
Talk slick but the spirit move heavier.
Mon Dieu, the air smell cursed tonight,
Rainwater drip from the cypress high.
I got river mud stuck to my sins,
Probably why the dead still recognize me.
Gold grill shine like forbidden treasure,
Whole aura built from storms and pressure.
I’m from where the grandmères read intuition,
And silence itself become religion.
Funeral roses on the dashboard leanin’,
My dreams too vivid to call coincidence.
Every crow outside my window know somethin’,
And every prayer feel expensive.
🎶
⸻
[Hook – Choir + Ritual Drums]
🎶
Gris-gris gospel in the swamp tonight…
Black magic moon underneath the light.
Gris-gris gospel still call my name…
Louisiana runnin’ through my veins.
🎶
⸻
[Verse 2]
🎶
Grand-père kept bones beside the Bible,
Said:
“Protection and fear walk together.”
Now I move through the city half-haunted,
Like destiny itself got my number.
Shorty from Houma with magnolia skin,
Whispered:
“Cher… your soul look disciplined by pain.”
I laughed low then poured more bourbon,
Like dark liquor could soften burdens.
Flow got cemetery humidity,
Every bar smell spiritually dangerous.
Even my metaphors wear black gloves,
Like the verses scared of fingerprints.
I’m from where hurricanes got personalities,
Where the swamp blur myth and reality.
So when I say the water talk back—
believe me.
🎶
⸻
[Bridge – Spoken + Choir]
Down here…
faith and folklore sleep in the same bed.
🎶
Black river hum beneath the trees…
Every ancestor speak through me.
🎶
⸻
[Verse 3]
🎶
I keep gris-gris tucked near the heart now,
Protection from the things I think about.
From the envy.
From the ghosts.
From the beast survival woke.
Because success don’t stop spiritual hunger,
It just give the demons nicer furniture.
Still…
I walk these flooded roads graceful,
Like the swamp itself raised me royal.
And if the moon turn blood-red tonight,
And you hear accordion through the pines—
That might just be Louisiana singin’,
Through everybody still alive enough to listen.
🎶
⸻
[Final Hook – Full Choir + Brass]
🎶
Gris-gris gospel through the rain tonight…
Swamp-born soul beneath candlelight.
Gris-gris gospel still move slow…
Louisiana never let me go.
🎶
⸻
[Outro – Thunder + Whispering]
[Book pages turning softly]
Every blessing got a shadow…
and every shadow…
know your name.
