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