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Deep in
the thick of an woodland grove,
A man stands next to a pot-bellied stove,
A grizzled old man hiding out in this cove,
The moonshine is flowing again.
He heats
the mash and squeezes the corn,
Distilling the liquid from evening ‘til
morn’,
Just like his father, before he was born,
The moonshine is flowing again.
“I’ll take this booze and spread
it around,
To the boys in the woods and the men in the town,
Don’t care if the ladies all wear a big
frown,
The moonshine is flowing again.”
He loads
up the trunk of his ’39 Chev,
He runs all the lights, even though they are red,
The revenue taxmen all want him for dead,
The moonshine is flowing again.
They're
hot on his trail and there’s nowhere to
run,
He heads down the highway and follows the sun,
The cops cut him down ‘cause he’s wearing
a gun,
The moonshine is flowing again.
“I’ll take this booze and spread
it around,
To the boys in the woods and the men in the town,
Don’t care if the ladies all wear a big
frown,
The moonshine is flowing again.”
He lies
all alone in an unmarked grave,
The cops shot him down ‘cause he wouldn’t
behave,
The booze that they captured, they figured
they’d save,
The moonshine is flowing again.
A voice
is heard, coming up from the ground,
“My life is now over, to Hell I am bound,
Just leave me some liquor, where it can be
found,”
The moonshine is flowing again.
“Now take this booze and spread it
around,
To the boys in the woods and the men in the town,
Don’t care if the ladies all wear a big
frown,
The moonshine is flowing again.”
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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