The Money Grows on Trees

I sold my first joint in my 16th year
The same time Baker got elected sheriff around here
The county clerk must've thought it weird how far the ballot box was off

In the Ozark hills, in the country of God
We know the kinda money prohibition brought
When Reagan made his war on pot
He made outlaws of us all

Well, I stole heirloom seeds from Humboldt soil
Maui-Wowie, Diesel, and the Cali Gold
The White Widow's the best I'm told for the hills of Arkansas

And ten miles from any blacktop road
On a couple hidden acres with a mobile home
A short way away from where the sheriff was born
I started my first grow

20-watt bulbs and styrofoam
Bush-hog, shovels and a mile of hose
They warned me at the hardware store
They said, "The law knows what hippies grow"

But hauling chicken shit in my junked out truck
I would sell anything for a greasy buck
I'm Sam Walton, I'm JB Hunt
I'm a job creator, I'm a dangerous one

Oh, hippies, hillbillies, won't you gather 'round?
A good man murdered, a bad man drowned
The cops are all moonshiners now
But the money grows on trees
Yeah, the money grows on trees

I met Sheriff Baker in the White River basin
Staring down the barrel of his Smith and Wesson
He cuffed me up, he took me in, I figured I would fry
But a Huntsville jail is no place for me
Two days later, they let me go free
The sheriff said from now on he'd be taking a piece
Like the old days of moonshine
A dollar for every dime

And that sheriff was no flattop pig
A knife on his boot, a nine on his hip
An outlaw biker with a Mongol stitch known wide and thought of well
So I knew I'd have to pay that man off good
There were long-haired hippies all over these woods
But none had the firepower I would with a lawman on my side

So I mouthed off the things I know
How you kill the male plants so the flowers can grow
I sent that sheriff on midday raids
To rob and steal and confiscate every bit of that green gold

And I grew own my sticky bud full of pine and loam
My purple-haired baby, my lover, my own
I'm a lost boy from a good home
I'm a Booger County CEO

Oh, hippies, hillbillies, won't you gather 'round?
A good man murdered, and a bad man drowned
The cops are all moonshiners now
But the money grows on trees

My first deal went through USPS
And all the money came in as a cashier's check
I thought twelve grand was the best it would get
Oh boy, I did not know

But money grows greed, and greed grows wrath
Ten flour sacks full of weed and cash
Sheriff Baker robbed me of half my stash left his tracks for me to find
Will you guard your pride, will you risk your life?
Will you clasp your hands, and blow on the dice?
Prison on the table, I just let it ride
But I swore he wouldn't fool me twice

A long haul drive with a cocaine grin
A horse trailer full of my finest blend
I struck a new deal with Armenians
And the payout went sky-high
Ten dollars for every dime

In the Kings River valley with those very same caves that hid Cole Younger and Jessie James
I couldn't spend all the money we made, I buried a million presidents
50 G's in my sleeve like a stone-cold killer on a plantation house with a great big cellar
I was throwing up dirt with big diesel tillers for a few hundred more pounds
And Sheriff Baker bought up all the land he could get
And a black Mustang and a red Corvette
The bigger we got, the bigger our heads
Of course somebody came for it

Yeah, the DEA put eyes in the sky
So we grew hydroponics in the cellar inside
We sat outside, and watched the planes fly by 'cause we were too damn big to fail
With the sheriff throwin' 'em off our trail

And you can lose your head, and you can curse your luck
But the federales got a warrant for us
Too bad that house got lightning struck
What a wild-ass act of God
Yeah, we were wild-ass acting gods

Oh, hippies, hillbillies, won't you gather 'round?
A good man murdered, a bad man drowned
The cops are all moonshiners now
But the money grows on trees
Yeah, the money grows on trees

I went back to that farm in the dead of the night
To dig up the money that I never did find
I had a good grow for the last time
I got caught red-handed on the mountain side
And the rich get richer, that's just how it goes
They can poison us with pills and GMOs
But I did a ten-year bid for a little smoke
Because a poor man can't get high
Because it ain't white collar crime

And I got out, but I never pissed clean
I kept slinging stuff on the low and lean
'Til Baker's side piece young Billy Jean
She was gonna sell us out
And there's things you whisper ear to ear
Billy Jean up and disappeared
You better button your lip, buddy, keep it sealed
Take the truth down to your grave

Sheriff Baker got low as a man can get
Methamphetamines and a pile of debt
Kid a suicide and his wife just left
He said he wanted the end of it and I guess I could see why
'Cause all the hell's angels wanted our heads for handshake deals and cash for sex
When I found his body, he was long dead
Dredged up by the riverside
Drowned or murdered, I can't decide

Oh, hippies, hillbillies, won't you gather 'round?
A good man murdered, and a bad man drowned
The cops are all moonshiners now
But the money grows on trees
Yeah, the money grows on trees

It's too damn much, this county's changed
There's no good end to the outlaw way
Nobody hires felons, so I can't go straight
I wanna end it all myself today

So I robbed a Wally World off of MLK
And I'm waiting for the cops to come take me away
Can't you see the blue lights coming?
Hey, they won't take me alive

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
I'll leave in a body bag but not in cuffs
If it sends my soul to hell
Won't you tell my story well?

Hippies, hillbillies, won't you gather 'round?
A good man murdered, a bad man drowned
The cops are all moonshiners now
But the money grows on trees
The money grows on trees

Won't you bury me in the rocky ground
Where the money grows on trees?