[Verse 1] First warm Friday Thermometer hits eighty and climbs Text from the group chat “Boys, it’s finally that time” Coolers in the driveway Somebody brought way too much ice I cleaned up the patio Even swept it twice [Chorus] Here’s to the kings of the cookout Apron on, spatula sword held high Smoke in your eyes but you’re grinning “Somebody flip me that ribeye” For every burnt thumb, proud dad joke Every burger that’s a little too charred Raise a can to the men at the fire Grilling their hearts in the yard (oh yeah) [Verse 2] We got that one friend Swears his rub’s a “family trade” It’s just brown sugar And whatever spice was on sale We’ll stand there in a circle Arguing rare vs. well-done Like it’s the constitution On a sesame bun [Chorus] Here’s to the kings of the cookout Tan lines, sauce stains, and pride Timing four kinds of meat at once Like it’s the Fourth of July For every late flip, flare-up Every “trust me, this one’s not hard” Raise a can to the men at the fire Grilling their hearts in the yard [Bridge] To the rookie with the tongs Shaking like a first slow dance To the uncle who says “Back in my day, I used real plants” To the quiet guy who talks For the first time all week by the heat Somehow every story Tastes better with meat (hey!) [Chorus] Here’s to the kings of the cookout Charcoal poets of the flame Talking life, love, and lawn care Like it’s all the same game For every “one more round” Every laugh til the daylight’s scarred This is a toast to the men at the fire Grilling their best in the yard (Yeah, here’s to the kings in the yard)
