Up from womb to tomb He rises grave to cradle.
He makes His own meats, puts food on the table.
It’s a full-time gig eatin’ sin-on-the-cob.
The hours suck, but it’s a job.
Feed that ego and you starve the soul…
Concrete hog with letters “BBQ”
“Eatin’ ain’t cheatin’” it’ll have to do.
He’s so slick that he can steal the shortnin’
Right out of the biscuit, not crackin’ the crust, ya’ll
Feed that ego and you starve the soul…