Phillip:
I certainly didn't mean to imply that we in the mountains had a monopoly on anything--except hard-headedness and distrust any form of government. As musicians, our family was an eclectic bunch, and anything that we heard which appealed to us or touched us entered our repertoire.

Here are the words as I recall them:

Many years ago in days of childhood,
I used to play 'til evening shadows come;
Then winding down that old familiar pathway,
I'd hear my mother call at setting sun:

CHORUS: Come home, come home, it's suppertime;
The sun is sinking fast.
Come home, come, it's suppertime;
We're going home at last.

Years later, I was standing by her bedside,
And angel wings were winnowing the air.
She heard the call for suppertime in heaven,
And now I know she's waiting for me there. CHORUS

In memory, I can see her standing yonder,
And her familiar voice I hear once more;
The supper table's ready up in Heaven--
It's suppertime upon the golden shore. CHORUS