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Mother's Mother
The Band Loula
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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"Hi, Logan, I guess you're writing another song
Oh, that one you wrote yesterday was just so priceless
Love you, hon'"
There's a picture in the kitchen, black and white, worn and faded
A little girl with an oak tree up above her
White dress clinging to her with her fingers 'round a kitten, barefoot in the grass
That's my mother's mother
There's a cast iron skillet, frying okra in the Crisco
And a big ole pan of cornbread in the oven
From peach cobbler to sweet iced tea, I don't follow a recipe
I go by heart and that's my mother's mother
I hope my driveway's just as long, hope my porch light's always on
And the phone calls never done 'til I say, "I love you, hon'"
I learned everything I know 'bout how to make a garden grow
And how to set the plates and how to say the grace for Sunday supper
From my mother's mother
There's nothing that her porch swing couldn't fix, don't matter how broken it gets
She'll put the pieces back together
She gets older, the days keep passing, I wish they'd pour more like molasses
But time ain't a cup of sugar you can measure
I hope our driveway's just as long, hope our porch light's always on
And the phone calls never done until I say, "I love you, hon'"
And I learned everything I know 'bout how to make a garden grow
And how to set the plates and how to say the grace for Sunday supper
From my mother's mother
And I hope that I have strawberries and tomatoes on the vine
And I hope that I can be just like
Oh, everybody says that I'm just like
My mother's mother
Mm, my mother's mother
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