Truman, your post reminded me of a song that always makes me think about growing up in the south. It doesn't mention cornbread, but for some reason I thought it did. It sure does remind me of those days though. It's called "Flies on the Butter" by Wynonna Judd. You'd probably have to hear it to get the feeling cause the way it sounds along with the words is what takes you back. I know it's got a weird title and I don't remember any flies on the butter
Here are the words:
Flies On the ButterOld tin roof, leaves in the gutter
A hole in the screen door big as your fist, and flies on the butter
Mamaw baking sugar cookies, we were watching cartoons
Heard her holler from the kitchen which one of you youngin's wants to lick the spoon?
Yellow jackets on the watermelon, honeysuckle in the air
Daddy turning on the sprinkler, us kids running through it in our underwear
Old dog napping on the front porch, his ear just a-twitching
Fell asleep on Granddaddy's lap to the sound of his pocket watch ticking
Oh, oh, oh - Oh, oh, oh
It doesn't seem like it was all that long ago
Oh, oh, oh - Oh, oh, oh
You can dream about it every now and then
But you can't go home again
Me and my best friend Jenny set up a back yard camp
Stole one of Mama's Mason jars, poked holes in the lid and made a fire fly lamp
Me and Billy Monroe sneaking down by the river
And I'm still haunted by the taste kiss I was too scared to give him
Oh, oh, oh - Oh, oh, oh
It doesn't seem like it was all that long ago
Oh, oh, oh - Oh, oh, oh
You can dream about it every now and then
But you can't go home again
There's a black-top road, a faded yellow centerline
It can take you back to the place, but it can't take you back in time
Oh, oh, oh - Oh, oh, oh
It doesn't seem like it was all that long ago
Oh, oh, oh - Oh, oh, oh
You can dream about it every now and then
But you can't go home again
Old tin roof, leaves in the gutter
A hole in the screen door big as your fist, and flies on the butter