Griswold Grin

[Verse 1]
My Griswold skillet on the induction stove, a perfect anachronism,
Scrapin' the bottom for a rhythm that this kitchen's been missin'.
The patina on it thicker than the humidity in July,
You left it on the rack, never even said goodbye.
Polymerized oil, a ghost of a thousand meals,
A load-bearing memory, I know how the structure feels.
This chip on my shoulder's seasoned, black, and non-stick now,
I'm cookin' up a feast on the ruins anyhow, Elara.

[Chorus]
This cast iron joy, this my inheritance,
Heavy in my hand, a beautiful malevolence.
I'm gilding this silence, makin' the quiet loud,
Head up in the Savannah summer thundercloud.

[Verse 2]
Remember that August, the Spanish moss went graveyard gray?
You said, "Boy, you holdin' on to what should just decay."
But the dry rot is decorative, the foundation's still true,
I see the Gullah pattern in the rust bleedin' through.
"'Dat season ain't gwine nowheh,' you said under your breath,"
A Lowcountry prophecy that cheated a kind of death.
Parking Benzes for the tourists down on River Street,
Thinkin' 'bout the sizzle of the fat, the bitter and the sweet.

[Chorus]
This cast iron joy, this my inheritance,
Heavy in my hand, a beautiful malevolence.
I'm gilding this silence, makin' the quiet loud,
Head up in the Savannah summer thundercloud.

[Bridge]
(Lead vocal drops out. Beat breaks down to just 808, hi-hats, and the cello stab)
(Ad-libs, heavily auto-tuned, scattered and rhythmic):
(Yeah...)
(Heavy...)
(Griswold...)
(Still here...)
(Uh...)
(Never wash it...)
(My joy...)
(Yeah...)

[Outro]
The heat off the iron... smells like victory.
For me.