Yo, pull up to the crib, I’m about to serve it proper,

Yo, pull up to the crib, I’m about to serve it proper, The grill gettin' hotter than a Glocka, make your jaw drop-a. Got the hickory poppin', watch the smoke fill the air, The way I season this meat, I ain't even gotta care. Bone tender, fallin' right off of the rack-a, I'm a meat master, got your whole crew on my back-a. Watch me flip it, dip it, then I glaze it, no mistake, Every single bite, a flavor you can't duplicate. Then the horns drop, hear the rhythm from the speakers, That smooth-ass jazz gettin' played by some street seekers. McPherson on the keys, he's a lyrical assassin, The way he hits those notes, got the whole room gettin' passive. Yeah, they call it a "fizzle," a melodic explosion, A sonic experience, my whole brain is just frozen. So sit back and relax, watch the flavor hit your soul, This a culinary masterpiece, got my mind and body whole.