The Midnight Rambler

His faded blue denim bib and brace
Matched the colour of his eyes sunken almost without trace
His worn out hands are wrapped around a jar
A whisp of smoke into the night, a crack echoes from the fire
That dull copperhead belched and bubbled away
Like an old friend with a belly full of laughter
And under his breath I heard that old man say
"This will be my last run of likker"

The Midnight Rambler, the lines cut deep across his face
Plot his life long story, his many falls from grace
The Midnight Rambler, always living at full pace
That master moonshiner, hounded and chased

He works all night, will sleep all day,
A man faded into folklore, a legend some might say
Just like his dad and his grandaddy before
This wisdom is passed down regardless of the law
That old sour mash makes the finest moonshine
From Cocke County throughout all Appalachia
The ATF choose to label it a crime
But this is Blue Ridge Mountain culture

The Midnight Rambler, the lines cut deep across his face
Plot his life long story, his many falls from grace
The Midnight Rambler, always living at full pace
That master moonshiner, hounded and chased

Ba-da-da-da-da
Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-dum
Ba-da-da-da-da
Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-aye-aye-aye-ya-ooh

The Midnight Rambler, the lines cut deep across his face
Plot his life long story, his many falls from grace
The Midnight Rambler, always living at full pace
That master moonshiner, hounded and chased

You'll never take the man from the mountain,
After all this time served, the law he'll keep on flouting
The Midnight Rambler