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The Mahogany is dusty, |
|
All the pipes are very rusty, |
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And the good, old-fashioned Musty, |
|
Doesn't musty anymore. |
|
All the stuff's got bum and bummer, |
|
from the middle of the Summer. |
|
Now the bar is on the hummer, |
|
and "For Rent" is on the door. |
|
How sad and still tonight, |
|
by the old distillery, |
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And how the cob-webs cob, |
|
on the old machinery. |
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But in the mountain tops, |
|
far from the eyes of cops, |
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Oh how the moon shines on |
|
the moonshine, so merrily! |
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Goodness me, how misery doubles, |
|
Ain't one thing to use for bubbles, |
|
Or to drive away your troubles, |
|
For the tide has gone and went. |
|
Days and nights are getting bleaker, |
|
shivering for an old-time sneaker, |
|
Even water's getting weaker, |
|
'Bout one tenth of one per cent. |
|
How sad and still tonight, |
|
by the old distillery, |
|
And how the Monas moan, |
|
at the Lager brewery. |
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So, mister, if you please, |
|
Don't let nobody sneeze, |
|
Up where the moon shines |
|
On the moonshine, so sillily |
