Intro: F F F F
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Papa Joe lived in the backwoods, up on the Bacon Ridge
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Had himself a whole lotta whiskey burning from a home made copper still
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He carried that Whiskey in a big pine box in a
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Long black Cadillac
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Towns folk thought it was the local mortician
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With somebody laying in the back
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One day papa Joe and the preacher
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They were sipping on a Mason Jar
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When somebody down at the funeral parlour
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Drove away with the old man's car
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He was heading to the sunny side graveyard where
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everyone was gathered around
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By the time papa Joe and the preacher got there
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They had buried that box in the ground
CHORUS
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Yes he carried that whisky in a big pine box
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In a long black Cadillac
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The towns folk though it was a local mortician
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With somebody laying in the back
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It was full of papa Joes white lighting
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It was better than the preachers wine
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It was 80 proof genuine, guaranteed to blow you mind
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Papa Joe's pure moonshine
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A little later on that evening
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Just as the sun went down
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Somebody caught old papa Joe
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He was digging that box from the ground
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Nobody said a word about
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But it should have made the front page news
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Rumour had it that the judge and the sheriff
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Started sipping on the ole man's brew
REPEAT CHORUS
