Cast Iron

Butter in the pan before the eggs The kind of morning doesn't need a plan Barefoot on the kitchen tile This old skillet understands Something seasoned in these walls Something slow and salted down Every scratch a meal remembered Every groove a handed-down Coffee on the counter getting cool I'll get to it when I get to it The bassline found my shoulder first My feet just followed through with it Something seasoned in these walls Something slow and salted down Every scratch a meal remembered Every groove a handed-down The recipe was never written The heat, you learn by hand The way the oil starts singing You know it when it lands Handed down Handed down