Bonus: Heaven on Claiborne

(Batiste riffing on organ, soft choir behind him)

🎶

Claiborne Avenue, où le ciel descend,

(Claiborne Avenue, where heaven comes down)

🎶

(Batiste laughs)

Y’all ready? Let the brother testify.

(Beat drops — crisp 808s and brass punch in.)

⸻

Yeah, I woke up in heaven, it had second-line drums,

Angels playin’ trumpets, tatted with slums.

I said, “God, where you at?” He said, “Right where you from.”

So I kissed the ground, that’s holy gumbo, son.

I got halos on my chains, faith in my veins,

Turnin’ raindrops to champagne pains.

Every loss taught me gain, every scar my design —

Even the devil couldn’t block my shine.

Lightin’ candles on the dash, prayin’ in codeine,

Talkin’ to ghosts while I’m gettin’ that green.

They say heaven’s on high — nah, it’s right here,

On Claiborne, with a trumpet and a tear.

⸻

🎶

Heaven on Claiborne, yeah, we home again,

Angels wear Jordans, pray with a grin.

If the world flood twice, we gon’ float in time,

Turn water to rhythm, pain to rhyme.

🎶

(Jon on piano, lightly singing “mmm… it’s heaven, baby.”)

⸻

I’m from where the saints march slow but the shots go quick,

Where the preacher got bars, and the hustlers slick.

Mama said “Boy, don’t you lose your soul,”

So I sold my pain, bought joy in gold.

Smoke risin’ like incense, holy on the low,

God in the trumpet, devil in the flow.

They said “You changed,” I said “You right — I evolved.”

From the flood to the fame, from the loss to resolve.

I’m blessed and I know it, the proof’s in the sound,

Wherever I go, New Orleans the ground.

They can take the stage, they can flood the block —

But they can’t wash away that second line walk.

⸻

🎶

Bon Dieu, bon cœur,

We turn hurt into fleur.

🎶

(Batiste shouts softly over the beat)

That’s right — even the broken glow in the Crescent light!

⸻

Life’s a solo on a trumpet bent,

A parade that ain’t payin’ rent.

But I still tip joy, even when I’m spent —

‘Cause faith ain’t free, it’s heaven-sent.

My crown ain’t gold, it’s my word and my rhythm,

My church got 808s — yeah, I pray with ‘em.

If love the law, I’m plead the fifth,

And testify on every riff.

⸻

(Batiste playing soulful piano runs)

Wayne:

They said heaven was up.

I said, nah… it’s right here, on the avenue.

Batiste (softly):

Le soleil se lève encore,

even when the world sleepin’.

Wayne:

Believe that.

Young Money. Old Soul.

(Trumpet fades. Choir hums. A baby laughs somewhere — then silence.)