Bill's Still

My sister Calliope's husband sent me the following, saying that his only brother-in-law had just written it today.

BILL'S STILL

I make that old liquor and sell it quicker
'Cause my recipe's fine in these hills of mine.
My cow was a mooer and would spot revenuers,
But mistaken for a deer, she got shot last year.

I needed some money to give to my honey.
Corn from the store would make a man poor.
But sugar's delivered by a guy in a flivver.
A sled and a mule and a path for this fool.

I built my stills by a creek in the hills,
To run off my brew for to sell it to you.
I've grown my own corn since the day I was born,
And all was ready last Saturday morn.

The creek was real clear like the base of a beer,
So I started my mash with a bit of a dash.
I made me a flag from an old sugar bag
And flew it to tell I was ready to sell.

I jarred it all up, a buck for a cup.
Price was just right for folks to get tight.
They came to that rag with a great big bag
Of cash to pay for heir holiday.

Quart or a half, I just had to laugh.
They carried it away, and a;ll of 'em pay
For that dew of mine. They all like that shine.
And I didn't sorrow when they returned on the morrow

With a swole up old head, wishing they were dead,
To get some hair of the dog, what they call my old grog.
So the price I jacked up, then they kicked my pup
Right into the fire and that got up my ire.

So I didn't fiddle, I grabbed him by the middle
Threw him into the creek. He landed on some geek
With a green uniform. I didn't mean no harm.
He said, "Son, you'll be my guest. You're under arrest.

You can't make that shine in these hills so fine,
Without making an arrangement to avoid an arraignment."
So I pulled some of the cash right out of my stash,
Said, "That's all I got since last I got caught."

He said, "That's enough. I don't aim to be rough.
You know the rule, you want to play cool.
So pay us some first and then we won't burst
Up your rusty old still. And I hope that you will

Make a lot more to sell at the store
We set up for you and a few others, too,
Back up in the holler, and we get a dollar
For every quart and a gallon brings four.

Sell all you make. There's no mistake,
Your brew is great, really first rate.
Something so rare gets a good market share.
So get with it, Bill, fire up that still."



Uncle Mitch, you should have lived to see the day!