Beans and Rice
Beans and Rice
My Dad was not a rich man He was not a man of means. But my mom was a magician When it came to rice and Beans.
You start early in the morning It’s the only way to go. With beans and water in the pot You cook them nice and slow.
When the wind blows cold in winter And the puddles turn to ice. You haul out the big iron pot, And cook the Beans and rice.
Lots of chili powder A little of Garlic too. A ham-bone or some sausage A bit of fat to chew.
By evening they are ready The sauce is thick and red. If you really want to do it Add some sweet corn bread.
For days past I am longing Not for Taco Bell. For the warm light of that kitchen And the love we knew so well.
For Beans on the stove a-simmering Muddy shoes upon the stairs. A cold west wind a-blowing And the warmth of Momma’s prayers.
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