The Arkansas Still
The swill from the still on that Arkansaw hill
was bubbling over the side.
This potent stuff on the stomach is rough,
smells like formaldehyde.
A man called Bill from the Tennessee Hills
then swaggered by the still.
“You Arkies don’t make moonshine right.
Can’t make a tasty swill.”
“I’ll condescend to sample it
and tell you what I find,
then help you use my expertise
to make the best moonshine.”
The still man warned that mountain man.
He said he didn’t think
the contents of this batch of hootch
even Arkies dared to drink.
The man from Tennessee just smirked,
and then stuck out his cup.
“I’ll outdrink any Arkie man,
so please now, fill it up.”
The still man shrugged and shook his head.
“I tried to warn you, Cuz.
If you take sips from this here batch,
your head is gonna buzz.”
Bill took a swig, he did a jig,
and then he up and died.
Cause what he swallowed from that cup
was real formaldehyde.
The ending has a positive note.
Complete waste it was not.
They poured the rest of it in his mouth
and embalmed him on the spot.