Here's to Will and My Old Copper Still In ‘twenty-nine the sky turned gray, Wall Street cashed out in a single day. The golden era crashed on credit and lies, We watched our silver fade before our eyes. The fancy joints shut down, the jazz went still, But out in the holler, we ran a copper still. They banned the bottle to "save our soul," Now we got no money and no control. Oh, the good times rolled, but the working man paid the toll, We risked the still to save our soul. We built this country with corn, yeast, and our time, We just fight for fairness down the line. The revenuers came with badge and flame, But moonshine money eased the hunger game. We'd trade a jar for flour, beans, and meat, Kept our kids quiet on the hard, cold street. Hoover said a chicken belonged in every pot, We were busy cooking 'shine in a hidden spot. The wealthy drank their imported, high-class gin, While we made do with a dangerous, white lightning sin. Oh, the good times rolled, but the working man paid the toll, We risked the still to save our soul. We built this country with corn, yeast, and our time, Yeah, we still fight for fairness down the line. With an old shiners will , to find what I need to fill my old copper still The Dust Bowl came, no rain to wet the ground, Only the scent of mash was hanging around. A life on the road, called an "Okie" by name, Running that shine, just part of the game. From tarred-and-feathered taxmen in seventeen ninety-one To 'shiners today with a gun. They make the laws, we make the brew, The system fails us, me and you. Oh, the good times rolled, but the working man paid the toll, We risked the still to save our soul. We built this country with corn, yeast, and our time, Will you fight for fairness down the line? (Bridge - Spoken/Half-Sung) I grabbed some cornmeal, creek water, and the knowledge I was taught, Mixed in some local herbs, just whatever I had caught. It won't be a perfect batch when times are really rough, From thin air I still craft , even when the times are tough You can never destroy my will to somehow fill my old copper still . From Whiskey taxes to the bank crashes, the story's the same, The little guy gets burned by the very same flame. They forget who builds the bridges, who runs the line, We'll always make a living running our shine. FDR let the beer flow, brought some tax relief, But the sting of the crash still cuts a path of grief. Oh, the good times rolled, but the working man paid the toll, We risked the still to save our soul. We built this country with corn, yeast, and our time, We still fight for fairness, all the time! (Outro) Tariffs and taxes, they come and they go, But the common man’s still puts on a show. From bread lines in '33 to today's modern strife, We fight for our future, we fight for our life. We fight for a fair shake, my friend. We fight With an old shiners will , to find what I need to fill my old copper still . Raise your glass, Here's to Will and My Old Copper Still