Earle Byrd From Mexia
You know ol' Earle Byrd down 'round Mexia
Frisco's the closest town
Take a ride off the black top onto the chirt rock
Take you right by his house
He got a Cur dog chained to a dogwood
And a mule that's meaner than shit
He's got him a champion fightin' rooster
That chicken's the pride of the Uriah pits
Served his country in Korea, served his time up in a cell
For cookin' up good homemade corn liquor
The kind that make a man go blind
Kind that make a poor man richer
When the folks vote the county dry
Kind that'll get you there quicker
Put some slack back in your jaw
I'm talkin' that good homemade corn liquor
Earle Byrd's been brewin' since the crack of dawn
Well now ol' Earle Byrd is an outlaw
Sutton of the south
Was the last of a breed, didn't brag
Didn't need you to run off and run your mouth
Well now one time the grape vine wind and wind
Through the hollers up in Perdue Hill
Well then follow the smoke stack way off the two track
And that's where they found the still
Did a ten-year stint in Atmore prison farming in the fields
For cookin' up good homemade corn liquor
The kind that make a man go blind
Kind that make a poor man richer
When the folks vote the county dry
Kind that'll get you there quicker
Put some slack back in your jaw
I'm talkin' that good homemade corn liquor
Earle Byrd been brewin' since the crack of dawn
Well now Earle Byrd is 90-something sittin' on the porch
Sippin' Nehi gnawin' on a sugar cane shoe
Ride out to the house
And he'll tell ya all about all the rotgut rye that he used to brew
He's a mountain of a man from Monroe
And Lord knows he don't deny nothing of the premonition
Tired of good ol' boys from south Alabama
Make a livin' durin' prohibition
Cookin' up good homemade corn liquor
The kind that make a man go blind
Kind that make a poor man richer
When the folks vote the county dry
The kind that'll get you there quicker
Put some slack back in your jaw
I'm talkin' that good homemade corn liquor
Earle Byrd been brewin' since the crack of dawn
'Til the crack of dawn
Yeah, 'til the crack of dawn
Frisco's the closest town
Take a ride off the black top onto the chirt rock
Take you right by his house
He got a Cur dog chained to a dogwood
And a mule that's meaner than shit
He's got him a champion fightin' rooster
That chicken's the pride of the Uriah pits
Served his country in Korea, served his time up in a cell
For cookin' up good homemade corn liquor
The kind that make a man go blind
Kind that make a poor man richer
When the folks vote the county dry
Kind that'll get you there quicker
Put some slack back in your jaw
I'm talkin' that good homemade corn liquor
Earle Byrd's been brewin' since the crack of dawn
Well now ol' Earle Byrd is an outlaw
Sutton of the south
Was the last of a breed, didn't brag
Didn't need you to run off and run your mouth
Well now one time the grape vine wind and wind
Through the hollers up in Perdue Hill
Well then follow the smoke stack way off the two track
And that's where they found the still
Did a ten-year stint in Atmore prison farming in the fields
For cookin' up good homemade corn liquor
The kind that make a man go blind
Kind that make a poor man richer
When the folks vote the county dry
Kind that'll get you there quicker
Put some slack back in your jaw
I'm talkin' that good homemade corn liquor
Earle Byrd been brewin' since the crack of dawn
Well now Earle Byrd is 90-something sittin' on the porch
Sippin' Nehi gnawin' on a sugar cane shoe
Ride out to the house
And he'll tell ya all about all the rotgut rye that he used to brew
He's a mountain of a man from Monroe
And Lord knows he don't deny nothing of the premonition
Tired of good ol' boys from south Alabama
Make a livin' durin' prohibition
Cookin' up good homemade corn liquor
The kind that make a man go blind
Kind that make a poor man richer
When the folks vote the county dry
The kind that'll get you there quicker
Put some slack back in your jaw
I'm talkin' that good homemade corn liquor
Earle Byrd been brewin' since the crack of dawn
'Til the crack of dawn
Yeah, 'til the crack of dawn
Credits
Writer(s): Gary Stewart Stanton
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