The husky Corn has pushed ahead with silken locks atop;

O, Brother, ain't it shocking?

And Colonels are expecting quite a bumper Bourbon crop—

Saloonward they are flocking!

But when they strip the ears and find the wasteful worms surrounding,

'Twill make the "moonshine" dimmer;

For ev'ry still has coils of worms illicitly abounding

Where sour-mash mixtures simmer.

The hillside Stills their fragrance breathe, and wood birds are a sounding;

My jug is in the hollow:

So fill it up, but watch your step and Secret Service hounding!

The scent is sweet to follow.

The Cotton Bolls are bursting forth with weevils in the sepals;

Come, Dinah, get to picking!

And rush the staple to the mart to clothe the naked peoples!

Or you will get a licking!