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Down a country road,
way back in the hills.
Was a little run-down shack,
inhabited by Broady Bill.

Broady was an ornery ole coot,
did things his own way.
In a still he made his moonshine,
his only form of pay.

The local men all came to him,
when their throats were dry.
They laid their money down,
to get their backwoods high.

They'd stay awhile and play some cards,
Broady dealing his very own deck.
These men were none the wiser as they lost,
and much to drunk to check.

When their pockets were empty,
Broady sent them all on home.
And he always stood their laughing,
as the wrong way they would roam.

He'd go inside and count his take,
then to a tree out back.
And bury it in a coffee can,
before retiring to his shack.

Broady grinned and always thought,
"Those fools will never know."
See, he never revealed his hiding spot,
not one man did he ever show.

Broady lived to a ripe old age,
died at a hundred and three.
The local men carried Broady Bill,
and buried him under that tree.

There they found the coffee cans,
which Broady had carefully stashed.
So they toasted him with his moonshine,
and divided up his cash.

They placed a marker upon his grave,
and this is what the gray stone read~

Broady Bill...May You Rest In Peace... 

But You Can't Take It With You, When You're Dead!