Stop grilling me about
The proper way to grill
You can't even cook
Your food just makes me ill
I serve a mean BBQ
I'll even cook out in the rain
So don't lecture me about
Charcoal or propane
You watch the Food Network
That doesn't make you pro
All that wack ass stuff you saw
On the Bobby Flay show
I'm like a God among Chefs
You're just a little boy
Now step aside "son"
Cuz this propane tank's my toy

I've got the brand name utensils
Used by all the professionals
Your junk is rusted and shitty
You bought it at Spatula City
I don't need your critique of my
Skills you can shove it
I could serve you a piece of my
Shit and you'd love it
You can't teach me I already know
You can't keep up you even drink slow

I got it all hooked up, easy as pie
Here you thought I'd blow up
And make us all die
I told you I could do it
I've got mad ass skills
I'd make so much from grilling
I could pay your bills

"Hey what's that smell?
I'm feeling lightheaded!"

Just get back to work
Make sure the seitan is breaded
Time to light the flame, oh wait!
That's gas that you smell
Shit, just lit a match
Guess I'll see you in hell

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