Well, walking liquor has done me wrong
I can't sleep night or day
A terrible feelin' that comes along
When the kick it begins to get away
Poison and a mixture or two
They call it sugar of lead
If you drink bootleg 'shine
You'll sure have an achin' head

Did you ever wake up on a Sunday morn
With snakes all around your bed
I know you have. I have, too
I know I'd rather be dead
The preacher comes around
And gives advice, and then
You have to stall
But if he gets to the bottle first
You know, he'll never leave you none at all.

I tell you, brother, and I won't lie
What's the matter in this land
They drink it wet and vote it dry
And hide it if they can
They'll pitch a party
And they'll all get drunk
And call it society
But if they catch you with a pint
Good mornin' penitentiary

Well, prohibition has killed more folks
Than Sherman ever seen.
If they don't get whiskey
They'll take to dope
Cocaine, and morphine
This ol' country it sure ain't dry
And dry will never be seen
Prohibition is just a scheme
A fine money makin' machine

Carbolic acid and creosote
Ought to kill any man
Some get paralyzed, some get well
Some hit the Golden Land
The undertaker has got to live
Beat him if you can
Prohibition, say it again
Is a money makin' fine machine

Copyright: Peermusic Publishing
Writer(s): CLAYTON MCMICHEN