Drummin' a constant beat
On a worn out tin roof.
Birds callin' in the trees
Yonder, up on the hillside.
The warmth of this ancient quilt
The texture of cloth and stitching.
Just smell the strong smell of coffee
Inhale the promise of bacon crisp.
Apples fried in a cast iron skillet
Cat head biscuits still risin' in the oven.
Eggs just gathered from under a fussy hen
Broke into a skillet and fried careful like
Just the way y'all like them.
It ain't fittin' to rise up to such a feast
But rise up you will, ready to go.
Its mornin' down here in the holler
Y'all wash up an' take a seat.