It's A Lock!

It's a lock! Pop-Tarts and sausage gravy at the redeye of dawn. Waking, to the aroma of mama's home-spun hog jowls, rattling the pots and pans. If grits ain't your dish then ya ain't home cookin'. "If grits are good enough for Bocephus..." Beware of petticoats and high heel sneakers impersonating Loretta Lynn and don't take any wooden pickles. I'm just a down-to-earth peach picker but the box stops here. Six feet down by way the molehill goes. My shelf life expired but I still have my barcode and Jack Daniels whiskey. "Pass the Cheetos please!"