Sweet Auburn SpringFest

Lyrics

[Intro]

Auburn Avenue in May, the smoke rises.
Murph at the smoker, hands steady.

[Verse 1]
You, old smoker, pitted steel belly full of hickory coals,
glowing since dawn on this stretch of asphalt,
near 220 Auburn Ave NE, where Big Bethel's steeple
pierces the late-spring sky, 78 degrees and climbing.
You've been here every SpringFest since, what, 2010?
Feeding the crowds, multi-generational lines snaking
past the Butler Street YMCA, elders in folding chairs,
kids dodging between legs, laughter mixing with your smoke.

[Chorus]
Oh, smoker, you hold the heart of Sweet Auburn,
ribs glazing under your lid, sweet-spicy sauce dripping,
drawing them in—families from segregation's shadow,
'richest Negro street in the world,' Fortune said in 1956.
Your hickory breath carries Janice White Sikes' words:
'Center of Black life,' she called this avenue,
and here we gather, resilient, proud.

[Verse 2]
Murph, you lean over, basting those ribs with a worn brush,
sauce recipe from your grandmother's kitchen, 1940s Atlanta.
The drum line thunders nearby, snare drums snapping like firecrackers,
local high school kids in formation, tubas booming low.
Faint peal of Big Bethel's bell at 10 AM opening,
prayer rising with your smoke, mingling with frying catfish aromas.
You, smoker, witness it all—sweat on brows, iced tea cups condensing,
sweet potato pie crumbs on napkins.

[Bridge]

Remember 2018, Derrick 'D-Money' Jackson spraying that mural,
MLK on plywood, three hours flat, crowd cheering,
gone by morning but etched in memory.
You, smoker, you stay, year after year,
feeding the hope, the heritage.

[Verse 3]
As the sun dips toward 8 PM, breeze cutting humidity,
you simmer down, coals fading red.
But the joy lingers, communal pride in every bite,
every clap to the drum line's rhythm.
Murph packs you up in the golf cart, ready for next May.

[Outro]

Sweet Auburn SpringFest, in your smoke we breathe life.
You, old friend, keeper of the flame.