Ribs in the Pit Boss

Be-bop meets Deep Southern jazz with swagger: walking upright bass, brushed kit, bright piano stabs, and playful horn hits, Male lead vocal front and center, trading lines with a female vocalist in the choruses; tight call-and-response harmonies and group shouts, Tempo dances between swing and bounce, with a short scatted breakdown and a final shout chorus over a raucous horn riff, new orleans jazz, male vocals

[Verse 1] Sun not even up Rub mixed just right Pit Boss hopper full of pellets Ready for a long, slow cook Racks loaded with chicken and ribs Slide em' in that door [Chorus] Smoke rings on a Saturday (oh yeah) Pork ribs shining, birds all glazed (so sweet) Friends drifting down the driveway slow “Whatcha got cooking? Save me some to-go” Smoke rings on a Saturday (come on) She laughs, stealing off my plate (hey boy) Grease on our fingers, smoke in the air Gatherin' in the backyard, everybody's there [Verse 2] Thermometer readin' steady Wifi workin' true Phone letin' me know the meat temp Still want to crack that door Need to leave it steady smokin, For a couple hours more [Chorus] Smoke rings on a Saturday (oh yeah) Chicken skin crisp, lips get glazed (mmm-hmm) She leans in, harmony on my line “Pass that wing, baby, don’t waste time” Smoke rings on a Saturday (all right) Two chairs crooked, sun leaning late (so fine) Grease on our fingers, smoke in the air Gatherin' in the backyard, we're all there [Bridge] [Horn riff, scatted vocal over hits] Bada-bap bap, flip that rack Shoo-bop, bring that backyard back She goes “doo-ya doo-ya, hand me that bone” Ribs and chicken all night long [Chorus] Smoke rings on a Saturday (oh yeah) Pit door open like a church buffet (amen) She takes the high note, I take the low Mouths full, laughing through the show Smoke rings on a Saturday (last bite) Coals fade out, sky turns gray (so slow) Grease on our fingers, smoke in the air Gatherin' in the backyard, we're all there

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