on a porch, rocking chair and a glass of tea
blended perfectly with southern hospitality
and tennessee bourbon
the potion is bound to bring a hard man to the grimmest face
the driveway gives plenty of warning
to the occupiers of this house
in the basement, a moonshine stihl
the old man carries a .44 and a 12 guage
to town each day
no phone rings or t.v. racket
just him and his potion
the lawmen dont even take a second look
they know what brews in his basement
but he bothers none that let him be
taxes, shit, taxes aren't worth the feeling
you get from ol' Jack Mulligan's Special brew