T.I.B.

Some say love is blind…

But I see just fine… through the smoke and the sauce.

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I was born with a lighter in hand

Baptized in grease by a pitmaster band

They said, “Boy, you’re cursed with fire and meat”

Now I grill to the rhythm of a demon beat

Brisket sermons, ribs for sins

Sear your soul ‘fore the meal begins

Slathered pain on a pulled pork plate

And fed your lies to a grill marked fate

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T.I.B. — Tongs in Blood

Smoked your name in backyard mud

T.I.B. — Taste the flame

Ketchup screams and propane shame

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You cheated me with that vegan clown

So I flipped my spatula and burned it down

Your tofu dreams, your kale lies

All turned to ash ‘neath southern skies

Now I host a cookout just for ghosts

With haunted brats and cursed beef roasts

You hear that sizzle? That’s regret

Marinated in the tears you left

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They begged me to serve with love and grace…

But I chose vengeance — with a smoky taste.

⸻

T.I.B. — Tongs in Blood

Your heart’s well-done in revenge rub

T.I.B. — Flame divine

You got ghosted… by grill design

⸻

Next time… don’t mess with a man and his meat.