Grip - Lyrics

Title: Grip
Artist: Loui Crow
Streaming: All platforms
📱 TikTok/FB/Youtube/IG: @louicrow

🖤 ABOUT THE SONG — GRIP
GRIP is Track 4 from GORGEOUS—a 16-song sonic exorcism by Loui Crow.

This is a true story.

Years ago, I lost a friend without warning. She stopped calling. Changed job location. Disappeared. I thought she ghosted me. I thought I did something wrong.

A year later, she left her husband, I helped. That’s when I found out the truth:
He had threatened to kill her—and me—if she didn’t cut me off.
She wasn’t abandoning me. She was protecting me.
She took the silence so I could keep breathing.
We never spoke again.

This song is for her. For the break rooms where we shared secrets in code. For the bruise behind the joke. For every woman who flinched and got told it was flirting. For the ones who freeze so the kids won’t wake up. For the ones who bend until the bending becomes their spine.

It’s about religious terror too.
The kind that turns marriage into a muzzle.
The kind that praises obedience while girls are dying inside homes no one calls violent.

GRIP isn’t about men. It’s about systems.
The vow as a noose. The hymn as a gag. The god they weaponized.
It’s about the silence we inherit from our mothers—
and what it costs us to break it.

This track is somatic. Sharp. Spoken like a bruise learning how to speak.
There’s a rap prayer at the center. A glitch in the hymn.
And a final mirror that doesn’t flinch.

If you’ve ever wondered why she stayed—this song answers.
If you’ve ever felt the grip—you’re not alone.
If you’re still frozen—this one’s for your blood.

GRIP is not a metaphor.
It’s the mark that stays long after the bruise fades.
They say “divorce is a sin.”
But what about beating your wife in prayer?
What about praying with your fists?
They said to forgive. To stay. To obey.
But obedience almost killed us.

 “Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked—
but those were the hands that held me.”

🔥 CROW BODY-BREAKDOWN — What GRIP Really Is
Grip is the threat behind the blessing.
Grip is what you call love when no one gives you another word.
It’s not just a bruise—it’s a belief system.
Wrapped in scripture. Drenched in guilt. Signed with a ring.

Grip is freeze. Grip is flinch. Grip is that soft yes you said
when you were never allowed to say no.

This song is what happens when the yes gets revoked.
When the silence breaks open.
When the bruise starts speaking.

🗣️ Crow Affirmation:
“Grip is not God. And silence is not love.”

🖤 CROW TRUTH
she didn’t leave because she was weak.
she left so I could live.
God didn’t bind us.
The grip did.

🩸 ABOUT THE ALBUM — GORGEOUS
This is Track 4 of my debut album:
GORGEOUS — a 16-song exorcism of rape culture, obedience training, beauty distortion, and the blueprint they buried in every girl who was told to stay quiet and look pretty. All true stories (blurred for safety)

A holy revolt in sixteen songs.
Each track is a confession and a return.
A scream in the throat of every woman who flinched and got told it was flirting.
It’s the sound of memory with the volume all the way up.
Not just what happened—what it did.

Track 1: GORGEOUS — The glitter trap. The poisoned compliment.
Date rape as a debut. “Why’d she get in the truck?”
It’s the song of the girl who never got asked what she wanted—
only judged for how late she got home.

Track 2: ON MY KNEES — Freeze response, dressed in manners.
A shape-shifted survival chant.
The martyr voice they praise. The pretty mouth they use.
She’s on her knees, but she’s not praying.
She’s gathering fire.

Track 4: GRIP — When silence is the bodyguard. When God is the excuse.
This is what the bruise remembers when the woman forgets.

The rest is coming.
One song a week.
Sixteen mirrors.
Sixteen ghosts.
Sixteen locks unlatching.
GORGEOUS is the door.
And I’m the one holding it open.

🎤 LYRICS — GRIP

[Verse 1]
We share a break room—jokes on loop,
while pain’s in bloom, and bruises fade too soon.
I say, “He cried after hurting me. I took the blame.”
She says, “I pretend I’m in someone else’s bed—
so I don’t wake up screaming at what he said.”
He changes the rules mid-sentence.
I flinch, then edit my presence.
The tighter I clench, the better his grip.
I learned to freeze, to please, to twist when it burned,
called it love ‘cause no one ever gave me the word.
He knotted the vow like a marital noose.
No one ever told me it was all abuse.
I joke through pain like it’s polite.
I’m one of the many who freeze each night.
Our mothers blinked through the slam and the prayer,
called it faith just to not disappear.

[Hook]
They say “wife.” I live beneath.
Wear the ring. Swallow the grief.
He says it’s a sin to leave—
then why does he grip me?
God is the gag, the hymn, the bruise.
Grip, and the mirror decides what I lose.
God is the gag, the blessing that binds.
Grip is the glitch that fractures my mind.

[Soft – Spoken like a prayer]
Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked—
but those were the hands that held me.
He prayed with his fists, then sealed it with a kiss.
I flinched and obeyed—still ended like this.

[Verse 2]
I spot the lie in the turtleneck—
mid-spring, no breeze. No cold to check.
The bruises hide in that black fabric.
She bends, she folds—she’s acrobatic.
He erupts on her, full volcanic.
We both wore bruises like wedding rings.
I called to check—her grip on the phone said everything.
She whispers, “He’ll hear this call.”
He mutters. She gasps. Then the line clicks.
I don’t know what happened to my friend.
He said he’d slit her throat in her sleep—
said I was next if she dared to speak.
I thought she ghosted me.
But she was protecting me.
Silence was the price of my pulse.
That’s how deep the GRIP goes.

[Bridge]
If God is grip, then I am God.
If He watches, I’m the fraud unflawed.
He watches? Then watch this.
I’m the bruise clenching into a fist.
You say: “You’re just like her.”
I say: “That’s not a curse.”
Our mother’s quiet scream
still lives beneath our teeth.

[Hook – repeat]
They say “wife.” I live beneath.
Wear the ring. Swallow the grief.
He says it’s a sin to leave—
then why does he grip me?
God is the gag, the hymn, the bruise.
Grip, and the mirror decides what I lose.
God is the gag, the blessing that binds.
Grip is the glitch that fractures my mind.

[Outro – like a prayer]
If He’s the script, then I’m the pen.
If He watches it all, I write the end.
Now look.
The grip is gone.
The mirror spoke.
And I’m still strong.