A poem written about my grandpa and his moonshine still on a hill.
Down the road and on top of a hill.
My grandpa had a moonshine still.
From dawn to dust he made a brew.
Quench the thirst of his shady crew.
The light of dawn to shadows of dusk.
Brewed his potion from corn in husk.
Nobody ever trespassed on his land.
The police or G men from uncle Sam.
For my grandpa had several Pit Bulls.
Roamed the hill looking for any fools.
He never worried about being caught.
The dogs guarded, he wasn't sought.
I'd like to go back see grandpa there.
Still makes the brew that he shares.
Someday they'll lure his dogs away.
Raid his moonshine still some day.
He keeps all of his money in a sack.
Hanging on a pole standing in back.
Nobody will touch it or steal it away.
My grandpa will give them Hell to pay.