[txhurl]

Well my name's John Lee Pettimore
Same as my daddy and his daddy before
You hardly ever saw Grandaddy down here

He only came to town about twice a year

He'd buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line
Everybody knew that he made moonshine
Now the revenue man wanted Grandaddy bad
He headed up the holler with everything he had
It's before my time but I've been told
He never came back from Copperhead Road

Now Daddy ran the whiskey in a big block Dodge
Bought it at an auction at the Mason's Lodge
Johnson County Sheriff painted on the side
Just shot a coat of primer then he looked inside

Well him and my uncle tore that engine down
I still remember that rumblin' sound
Well the sheriff came around in the middle of the night
Heard mama cryin', knew something wasn't right
He was headed down to Knoxville with the weekly load
You could smell the whiskey burnin' down Copperhead Road

[SWAMPSNIPER]

By the time I was 10 or 11 I could have told you where half a dozen stills were at any time. This was almost open country for kids then, we rambled wherever we wanted to, but it was unwritten law that you kept your mouth shut about some things.

When you stumbled across a still you kept your eyes on the ground and walked right on by. It was a price of freedom to ramble.