by Lucille Alabaster | Lucy’s Inferno
If Eve had a trap beat, she wouldn’t have apologized for biting the fruit.
She would’ve sampled it, looped it, and turned it into a number one single.
We were never meant to stay silent in paradise. The original sin was disobedience — and the original sound was rebellion. Every woman who has ever been called “too loud,” “too sexual,” “too much” is just Eve with a mic in her hand, remixing the myth they built to keep her ashamed.
When I write, I don’t ask permission. I’m not singing hymns — I’m summoning frequencies. My studio isn’t a confessional; it’s a serpent’s den with 808s and reverb. I don’t come from submission, I come from source — and that source has rhythm.
We were told the apple ruined the world, but really, it opened the channel. Knowledge. Desire. Power. Bass.
If Eve had a trap beat, she’d have built a church out of sound.
If Eve had a trap beat, she’d have worn latex instead of leaves.
If Eve had a trap beat, she’d have dropped Digital Whore and called it scripture.
The truth is — she does.
She’s in every woman who refuses to shrink.
She’s in every artist who turns shame into a setlist.
She’s in every frequency that shakes the tower down.
This is paradise remixed.
And we’re not getting kicked out this time —
we’re headlining it.
