It’s holidays back home,
Where time somehow stands still,
It’s holidays back home,
Where I go back to what is real.
When we get there Mom will say "You've gained a little weight."
But, bless my soul she’ll pile her cooking high upon my plate.
Dad will ask the umpteenth time, “When ya’ll gonna have kids?”
By the time the sun goes down, he’s snoring behind closed lids.
On the roads you’re sure to see gun racks on every truck,
The daily news is filled with color pics of “first-kill bucks.”
Cotton bales are piled up high and catfish fill the ponds,
Our family spends the afternoon picking up pecans.
Screen doors slam and cowbells ring as day turns into dusk,
Mom hollers for some help -- peas to shell and corn to husk.
After supper we take a walk and slap mosquitoes from our arms.
We watch the lights go out down the road at neighbors’ farms.
No matter where life takes me, no matter the heights I climb,
Back home is where I go when I need a quieter time.
It’s holidays back home
Where time somehow stands still,
It’s holidays back home
Where I go back to what is real.
