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(*O'Donnell, Dave Turnbull, J.R. Shelby) |
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Me and my cousin Lendyl* |
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Got lost hunting Coon |
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In the Carolina Mountains |
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Somewhere outside of Boone |
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We were just about to panic |
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When 'ol Lendyl saw the sign |
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It said, "Come on in! The whiskey's fine." |
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That old shack looked abandoned |
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Roof all fallin' in |
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Just some pertrified planks |
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And some rusty ol' tin |
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We both likely crapped our britches |
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When a voice from inside |
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Yelled, "Come on in! The whiskey's fine." |
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Then those swinngin' doors opened |
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He staggered out on the porch |
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Dressed just like Davey Crocket |
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Beard clear down to the floor |
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He said, "The band's drunk, beer's skunked, |
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And we ain't got no wine, |
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But come on in! The whiskey's fine." |
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We peeked in over his shoulder |
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And the first thing that we saw |
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Was a boy pickin' a banjo |
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In a pair of overalls |
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He said, "That boy is half crazy, |
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Plays the same song all the time, |
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But Hey come on in! The whiskey's fine." |
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"The food will make you sick, |
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The air will make you choke, |
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The waitress ain't a-workin', |
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And the Jukebox is broke." |
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He said, "the band's drunk, beer's skunked, |
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And we ain't got no wine, |
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But come on in! The whiskey's fine." |
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He said, "The pinballs won't roll, |
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The pool-table rocks, |
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And it hotter than two rats in heat, |
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Inside an old wool sock." |
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"I wouldn't drink the water, |
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It tastes like turpentine, |
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We're WAY overpriced, |
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And a little hard to find." |
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"The band's drunk, the beer's skunked, |
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And we ain't got no wine, |
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But come on in! The whiskey's fine." |
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"Ya'll come on it! The whiskley's fine!" |
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"Ya'll come on in! |
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Aaawwww, The whiskley's fine!" |
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"Hehehehe" |
