THEY CALLED US WITCHES [INTRO — SPOKEN OVER FOOTSTEPS] They called us witches. Some of us weren't. Some of us were healers. Midwives. Mothers. Daughters. Some just knew which root cooled a fever. But once fear needs a name— any woman will do. [DRUM ENTERS] Boom. Da-boom. Boom-boom. [WOMAN] You hear that? [SECOND WOMAN] That's not thunder, chère. [WOMAN] Then what is it? [WHISPER] New Orleans waking up. [VERSE 1] They called us witches, called us strange, blamed the woman, fed the flame. Tie her hands, hide your shame, say God's name and curse her name. But the dirt got ears, and the river knows. What you bury deep still learns to grow. Names in the mud, bones below— when that bass drum calls, baby, here we go. [PRE-CHORUS] Stir it once for the ones they blamed. Twice for the ones they never named. Three for the truth they couldn't kill. Pot getting hot— better stand still. [CHORUS] WITCHES BREW! GUMBO IN THE POT! Make that roux, let it get hot. Brass band coming, whole street move. Dead got bones? Then bones got groove! Hey! They called us witches! Let 'em talk. They called us witches! Let 'em watch. From the bayou to the city lights, if the dead hear the rhythm— they dance tonight. [POST-CHORUS] March! Left foot. Right foot. Shake that graveyard dust loose. March! Horn cry. Drum talk. Even old bones know what to do. [VERSE 2] Spanish moss hanging low. Moon on black water, where you going, chère? Down where the cypress keeps old names, where every generation adds to the flame. Okra. Pepper. Onion. Thyme. Different hands meet at different times. Don't call every root the same old thing. Every people got their way to sing. African drum. French tongue. Caribbean heat. Brass from the city put fire in your feet. Gumbo taught us something kings never knew: Different don't disappear when it enters the stew. [CREOLE CALL] Nou la toujou! (We are still here!) Nou ka dansé! (We are dancing!) Pa bliyé nou! (Don't forget us!) [RESPONSE] We remember! [CHORUS] WITCHES BREW! GUMBO IN THE POT! Make that roux, let it get hot. Tuba down low, trumpet cut through. Dead got bones? Then bones got groove! Hey! They called us witches! Still we came. They burned the paper! Not the name. Bayou rolling, Briar waiting— whole damn street start vibrating. [BREAK — BRASS BAND] Oh! Move that shoulder. Drag that heel. If you're living, show me you can feel. Horn say HA! Drum say GO! Trombone crawling down below. [VOICE FROM A GRAVE] Y'all too loud. [WOMAN] You complaining? [VOICE] No. Move over. [BEAT RETURNS] [VERSE 3 — THE TRUTH] Some knew herbs. Some knew prayer. Some knew babies and how to care. Some knew nothing but how to survive. Still you feared them while they were alive. And somewhere behind them, quiet and still, stood women who knew things you thought weren't real. One watched the fire. One watched them drown. One heard another innocent woman condemned. A man asked softly, "How do you know she wasn't a witch?" The woman turned. Fire in her eyes. "Because I am." [DROP] WITCHES BREW! [FINAL MARCH] Gumbo! Gumbo! Pass that bowl. Feed that body. Wake that soul. Trumpet screaming. Bass down low. Tell the cemetery: WE GOT SOMEWHERE TO GO! They called us witches— we kept our names. They called us devils— we survived their flames. They called us wicked— history changed. But Briar Street still knows our names. [CREOLE RESPONSE] Nou la toujou! (We are still here!) Pa bliyé nou! (Don't forget us!) [ALL] NOTHING IS WASTED! [FINAL CHORUS] WITCHES BREW! GUMBO IN THE POT! Old world, new world, give me what you got. Second-line stepping, whole street move. Dead got bones? THEN BONES GOT GROOVE! March! March! Make Heaven look down and the graveyard move. March! March! If death got ears— LET THE DEAD HEAR THE GROOVE! [OUTRO — MUSIC CONTINUES IN DISTANCE] The parade passes. The street empties. One woman remains. She looks down. Beneath the pavement— something knocks. KLANG. She stops. "That ain't one of ours." Another KLANG. Far beneath Briar Street. She smiles. **"Well... somebody else woke up."**
