There′s a pine log shack in the mountains
That's where my Corie dwells
She makes the finest mash liquor
What she doesn′t drink she sells
Well, the first time I see darlin' Corie
She was weavin' through the woods
With a kerosene lantern on her shoulder
And a satchel full of goods
Please do drop down next Monday
Please bring me a jug or five
When the sun comes up on Tuesday
Don′t beg her to be alive
Don′t care if you are livin'
Don′t care if you are dead
If you're gonna drink my product
Then I′m gonna take your bread
Braille, father
Well, the last time I see darlin' Corie
She was wanderin′ through the weeds
With a government man behind her
Gonna grab her for her deeds
Wake up, wake up, darlin' Corie
What makes you sleep so sound?
The revenue officers are comin'
Gonna tear your stillhouse down
Writer(s): Bob Shane, Donald David Guard, Nick Reynolds Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
