Smokin' In The Ghetto Christmas Feast

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, every bite's a game. Billy hums carols

while the smoke clouds rise. Jackson's jokes put twinkles in your eyes.