Crank that oven, baby, 225 on the dial, Boston butt in the pan, gonna roast it wild! Rub it thick, rub it messy, make that kitchen glow, Fridge Raider says, baby, cook it low and slow! Grab a 5-pound shoulder, fat cap still on top, Salt, pepper, brown sugar, give that rub a good tap. Garlic, papreka, chili flakes if you dare, Mess it up, smear it thick, don’t even care. Slide it in the oven, fat side up in the pan, Pour a splash of cider, the magic began. Wrap in foil or butcher paper, maybe halfway through, Check it once in a while, Fridge Raider style... woo-hoo! Low and slow, baby, that’s the only way to go, Pull it, shred it, messy hands, saucy show! Smoke in the kitchen, rub on my face, oh no, Fridge Raider says, baby, cook it low and slow! Eight hours later, meat slides like a dream, Fork goes in easy, juices flow in a stream. Bark on the edges, carmelized and sweet, Fridge Raider laughs, “This mess? Oh it can’t be beat!” Serve it on a bun or just plate it right there, Slaw on the side, napkins flying through the air. Grab some bark, sauce dripping from your chin, Rockabilly Bar-B-Q... let the chaos begin! Don’t stress the clock, don’t watch the heat, Collagen melts, fat renders, flavor can’t be beat. If you burn a finger, or spill a little sauce, Fridge Raider grins... “That’s the chef's kiss!” Low and slow, baby, that’s the only way to go, Pull it, shred it, messy hands, saucy show! Smoke in the kitchen, rub on my face, oh no, Fridge Raider says, baby, cook it low and slow! Low and slow, baby, that’s the only way to go, Pull it, shred it, messy hands, saucy show! Smoke in the kitchen, rub on my face, oh no, Fridge Raider says, baby, cook it low and slow! Yeah, baby… hands messy... smoke everywhere... sauce in your hair… Fridge Raider style... you know the drill... low and slow, baby… low and slow... low and slow, baby… low and slow...
