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Stop grilling me about

The proper way to grill

You can't even cook

Your food just makes me ill

I serve a mean BBQ

I'll even cook out in the rain

So don't lecture me about

Charcoal or propane

You watch the Food Network

That doesn't make you pro

All that wack ass stuff you saw

On the Bobby Flay show

I'm like a God among Chefs

You're just a little boy

Now step aside "son"

Cuz this propane tank's my toy

I've got the brand name utensils

Used by all the professionals

Your junk is rusted and shitty

You bought it at Spatula City

I don't need your critique of my

Skills you can shove it

I could serve you a piece of my

Shit and you'd love it

You can't teach me I already know

You can't keep up you even drink slow

I got it all hooked up, easy as pie

Here you thought I'd blow up

And make us all die

I told you I could do it

I've got mad ass skills

I'd make so much from grilling

I could pay your bills

"Hey what's that smell?

I'm feeling lightheaded!"

Just get back to work

Make sure the seitan is breaded

Time to light the flame, oh wait!

That's gas that you smell

Shit, just lit a match

Guess I'll see you in hell