Prophetic beats that trigger hell.

From trap houses to pulpits.

Your pain is your weapon.

Prophetic beats that trigger hell.

From trap houses to pulpits.

Your pain is your weapon.

'Trenches' isn't just bars—it's spiritual warfare. He's battling real enemies—doubt, temptation, the pull of the streets—but he fights with Scripture in his veins. Every line is a prayer, every flow a declaration: 'Devil thought he had me, but my faith got deeper.'

'On My Own’ aches with holy hunger—that moment when the world fades and it’s just you and the Father. Godswill’s not crying loneliness; he’s claiming the refiner’s fire. ‘Ain’t got nobody but You’ isn’t defeat—it’s surrender.

Godswill ain’t packaging pretty devotion—he’s gasping for grace like oxygen in a smoke-filled room. The track’s ache? That’s the sound of addiction to Christ.

'Trenches' isn't just bars—it's spiritual warfare. He's battling real enemies—doubt, temptation, the pull of the streets—but he fights with Scripture in his veins. Every line is a prayer, every flow a declaration: 'Devil thought he had me, but my faith got deeper.'

'On My Own’ aches with holy hunger—that moment when the world fades and it’s just you and the Father. Godswill’s not crying loneliness; he’s claiming the refiner’s fire. ‘Ain’t got nobody but You’ isn’t defeat—it’s surrender.

Godswill ain’t packaging pretty devotion—he’s gasping for grace like oxygen in a smoke-filled room. The track’s ache? That’s the sound of addiction to Christ.