Smokin' in the Ghetto

Out on the corner where the lights don't glow. Sits a red food trailer in

the falling snow. They call it Smokin' in the Ghetto, a barbecue dream,

where the ribs are smoking and the mac and cheese gleams. Billy's smile could

light the sky. Jackson's laugh makes the cold breeze fly. Oh,

smokin' in the ghetto, where the flavors are gold. Ribs so tender

they'll never grow old. Pat counts the orders, her hands so

quick. It's Christmas in the ghetto, come grab a stick.

The sauce is hotter than a Christmas flame. Every plate's a party,