LATHAN WARLICK & FRANCHESCA - HOLY (LYRICS)

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“Holy” by Lathan Warlick and Franchesca is a battle cry wrapped in praise—a raw and honest testimony that doesn’t sugarcoat the struggle, but magnifies the Savior. It’s the sound of someone who’s been through the fire, still smelling like smoke, but filled with the Spirit and shouting the name of Jesus with conviction. This isn’t polished faith; it’s gritty, real, and on fire.

The opening lines hit like a journal entry written in the middle of the storm. “I got a praise inside of my body that won’t leave me alone.” That’s not religion—that’s relationship. It’s a praise that won’t sit still because it knows what God has done. When the enemy came swinging, God gave strength. When doubt crept in, hope held fast. It’s personal, and it’s powerful.

And then comes the anchor of the song: *Holy*. It doesn’t come from a place of performance, but posture. The kind of awe that rises up from the dirt and still declares the beauty of Jesus. Even while wrestling with fear, confusion, and weariness, the voice lifts in worship. That’s what makes this song so moving—it’s not a sanitized confession. It’s a holy one. It's the kind that the Father receives with open arms.

There’s a moment in the lyrics that speaks volumes: “I still ain't even got it together, but somehow He using my mouth to make 'em believe.” That’s grace. That’s calling. God doesn’t wait for perfection to use us—He uses us in our progress. That confession reminds every listener that God can do something *in spite of* and *because of* our brokenness.

The second verse dives into spiritual warfare, not just in theory, but in daily practice. Prayer. Fasting. Fighting back against the noise and temptation. There’s hunger—real hunger—not just for victory, but for holiness. And not the kind that comes from performance, but the kind that comes from proximity. When we stay close to Jesus, we start starving the flesh and feeding the spirit. That’s what sets people free.

And woven through the honesty is worship that doesn’t waver. “You pick me up every time I fall… Jesus, you are so powerful.” There’s no question in these words—just reverence. The angels fall, the voice lifts, and the soul bows low. The repetition of *holy* at the end is no accident. It’s like a heartbeat. Steady. True. Eternal.

“Holy” isn’t just a song. It’s a lifeline. A reminder that in every battle, every doubt, every moment of desperation—He is still holy. Still worthy. Still beautiful. And even when we’re still figuring it out, He meets us with power, peace, and presence. That’s a God worth shouting about.