Gather ‘round the fire my friends, grab your drinks as dark descends
For a tale so demented you’ll be certain that I fib.
I speak of the tallest man in BBQ, he’s a lot like me and you,
And how he taught me how to hang the perfect rib.
He told me on a moonless night, as he sipped on my last Coors Light,
scratched his johnson and used my cooler for a seat.
Said “now I’ll tell a story, about how I won all my rib glory,
I’ll trust that you will keep it most discrete.”
He said, “Son I used to pellet cook, until I gave those drums a look.
The fat dripping on the coals tastes so sublime.
I learned the drum from a guy named Brinker, after that I’d cook and tinker
I started hanging so I could cook more than three at a time.”
“You want to run a small hot fire, add pecan wood if you so require,
the needle on your drum should be up and down.
Rub the ribs with Poppa’s Money, add a dash of John Henry’s Honey,
Hang them with the big bones towards the ground.”
“Every half hour give the ribs a turn, making sure the ends don’t burn.
A deep red color the ribs will now acquire.
The outsides will start to sizzle, the fat will pop and fizzle
pull them off to wrap if one falls in the fire.”
“A flavorful wrap it’s time to pick, Tennessee Red and a butter stick
slap them on the bones, the smell will intoxicate.
Sprinkle on some sugar, brown, that’s the key to flavor town
wrap them tight in foil and lay them on a grate.”
“In less than an hour they’ll be done, but listen to me, son.
You can’t go relying on a temp.
If they bend when you go to hold ’em, you know it’s time to pull them.
Their tender when they’re feeling nice and limp.
“Sauce with Blues Hog out of the jar, that sweet flavor will take you far.
Coat the ribs and put them in the heat.
The color will really pop, from that mop you put up top.
Slice them up because now it’s time to eat.”
“I can see you’re out of beer, the fire’s dying and I fear
I’ve said more than I really meant to say.
So if it’s trophies you’d be obtaining, give those ribs a proper hanging
Goodbye for now, I’m afraid I must away.”
He tipped his trucker hat, slowly turned away and spat.
Faded from the light of the dying fire.
I tell you it’s all true, and now I pass it on to you.
Here’s to good hanging that I’m hoping I inspire.