I’m Gonna Get My Stick - Lyrics

🎵 Title: I’m Gonna Get My Stick
🎤 Artist: Loui Crow
📲 Streaming: All platforms
📡 Linktree: https://linktr.ee/louicrow
Tiktok: @LouiCrow

🖤 ABOUT THE SONG — I’M GONNA GET MY STICK
This is a love song for the fathers who held back their tears.
A rhythm for the men who made it through without a map.
Some were hit. Some never were. But all were shaped by the shadow of silence.
This song honors them—the ones who bore it and the ones who broke it.

The stick is a symbol. A story. A staff passed down.
It held discipline, silence, lineage—and now, it holds rhythm.
I don’t use it to strike. I use it to move.
To call the grief out of hiding. To honor what held us and what hurt us.

This is my rite, and it’s my offering.
A chant for every man who couldn't cry, and every child who felt it anyway.
I swing the stick with breath and bone, not blame.
I dance the grief they carried and couldn’t name.

🔽 SCROLL DOWN for the full lyrics. Then come back up for the body-spell ritual and breakdown.

🔥 CROW BODY-BREAKDOWN — What Inherited Silence Really Is
It lives in the pause before you cry.
In the breath you hold so you don’t get cut off.
It’s in the way your body braces when love speaks too loud.
It’s the stick you flinch from even when it never struck.

This isn’t your shame—it’s a lineage loop.
Passed down by men who called posture strength and feelings weakness.
Passed down by silence that snapped louder than fists.

You broke the loop the second you named it.

🗣️ Crow Affirmation:
“My voice is rhythm. My grief is rite. I swing what silenced me into sound.”

🕯️ Ritual: The Stick Becomes the Drum

1. Stand tall. Feel your feet strike the ground.

2. Close your eyes. Picture the stick in your hand.

3. Say: "I hold what shaped me. I move what stayed."

4. Tap your chest, thighs, or the earth with rhythm. Let the body stomp.

5. Repeat the affirmation until it catches fire.

🖤 CROW TRUTH
The stick was never the threat.
The silence was.
And I don't carry his wound—I carry the drum.

🖋 LYRICS — I’M GONNA GET MY STICK

(CHORUS – YELL)
I’m gonna get my stick
I’m gonna get my stick
Bark still on it, breath still thick
Backdoor slam and a shadow slick
I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m gonna get my stick

(VERSE 1 – SPOKEN-GRIT)
Glossed in guilt and pride
Whittled down where the bruises hide
He carved that love in silence, tight
Held the scream in a knuckle-white bite
Never swung it, but the dogs knew
Never beat me, but I learned to flinch too
He said, “You’re too sensitive.”
Said, “That’s enough now, dry it up.”
He wasn’t cruel—just full of ghosts
Who never taught him soft was tough.
Never struck, but the words would land
Like leather snaps from an unseen hand
Stick stayed clean, but the voice would bruise
Looped in a lecture you never could lose

(CHORUS – LOUDER)
I’m gonna get my stick
I’m gonna get my stick
Call the ghosts, make the marrow tick
Storm in my stance, truth gonna stick
I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m gonna get my stick

(SPOKEN – DRUM RITUAL)
He was raised to answer pain with posture.
Raised to speak in rules, not feelings.
He didn’t pray. He sharpened.
Didn’t cry. He clenched.
Didn’t soothe. He solved.
Didn’t question. He braced.
He said “I love you”—and meant it.
But his father never did.
So he said it like a fact, not a feeling.
Like a roof beam. Like a fence post.
Like a boundary he built but couldn’t walk through.
His dad gave out belts like commandments.
No softness. No choice. No sound.
If he spoke too soon, he got cut off.
If he flinched, he lost.
So he learned how to be a wall.
And I—
I pressed my palm to the crack and listened.
I made space where he braced.
I became the daughter his father couldn’t quiet.

(VERSE 2 – SPOKEN-WAIL)
He came from fists and wanted not
(pause)
Belt on the wall. Cry and get caught.
Whipped for “sass,” for slow replies—
A child taught that love means lies.
He flinched when I flinched. That’s the thread.
He patched my wounds with words instead.
But no one taught him how to cry—
So he passed down rules he never survived.
He was the one that lived, so he tried
But you can’t hug right when your nerves are tied.
So he walked. He wandered. He looked for trees
Carved canes like he carved apologies.
Did his best to pass the peace
But the silence still snapped like a leash.
He said, “You think that’s hard?”
Said, “You don’t even know what pain is.”
His love was laced in lecture bars—
The kind that cage and call it wisdom.
I take the stick and make it spin
Don’t crack it—let it sing
I don’t bash what held the line
I dance the grief he left behind

(CHORUS – MULTI-VOICES/CHANT)
I’m gonna get my stick
I’m gonna get my stick
Lunge and loop, that lineage flick
Swung through shame and rhythmic grit
I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m gonna get my stick

(VERSE 3 – BREAKDOWN / GROWLED)
Stick isn’t weapon. Stick is rite.
Stick is boundary shaped by fight
It doesn’t bruise—it bears the weight
Of every man who broke too late
I don’t swing to punish—I swing to live
To say what he couldn’t. To forgive what he did

(CHORUS – FINAL / CHANT FX)
I’m gonna get my stick
I’m gonna get my stick
Lineage blaze and bone oil slick
Grip that handle like a blood-born trick
I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m gonna get my stick

I take the stick and make it spin
Don’t crack it—let it sing
I don’t bash what held the line
I dance the grief he left behind

(chant and fade out)
I’m gonna get my stick

💔 What pain or struggle is this blog addressing?
The grief that never got named.
The love that came laced in rules instead of warmth.
The way boys became men without ever learning to cry.
The way daughters flinched at silence that echoed louder than screams.
It’s about the inheritance of restraint—how emotion gets passed down like an heirloom, wrapped in posture and fear.

✨ What’s the soul win?
The stick becomes a staff.
The silence breaks into breath.
You feel it in your thighs, in your chest, in your teeth—truth rising through rhythm.
You move for the men who never could.
You call the grief up and swing it into song.
You stop the loop. You start the dance.
This is love, rewilded.