| Well my granddaddy was a good man
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| No matter what the papers say
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| He worked 'til he bled for everything he had
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| Brought us up to do the same
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| One afternoon in June
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| They had us workin' just like a couple mules
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| My cousin and me were twenty feet deep
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| And covered in red mud clay
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| Well we ran pile (?) from the creek bed
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| Through the woods to the old grey shack
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| It was worth the trouble to work them shovels
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| For granddaddy’s sour mash stash
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| All the weeds and pecan trees hid a secret
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| We all swore to keep
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| Well my granddaddy knew what the law would do
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| If they ever come snoopin' 'round back
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where the creek is high
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where only the moon shines
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| Without money you can’t buy nothin'
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| And nothin' is a damned ol' shame
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| When you’re in the hole
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| You’d sell your soul for runnin' water instead of rain
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| Well the hills were filled with the smell of cash
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| Cookin' in the copper still
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| Everybody knew where they get their brew
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| And that made our family name
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where the creek is high
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where only the moon shines
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| Well years and laws passed by
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| They couldn’t keep the county dry
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| One night, the sheriff went to lookin'
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| For the man who was cookin' that bootleg moonshine
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| Well he called the press
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| And he brought his best to tear our old shack down
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| But when they went for the stash my granddaddy laughed
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| For the shack was a pump house
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where the creek is high
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where only the moon shines
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| It was down in the gulley
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| Where the creek is high
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| Lord I’m down in the gulley
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| Where only the moon shines |