The view ain't much; staring at the world
through gray bars. Get used to it, you'll
be here for the next six months.
It took more than two years for those
revenue boys to catch me. I moved
the still every two weeks. My friends
lit fires all around so the smoke wouldn't
give me a way.
I cried long and loud when they smashed
my still. That old still was my best friend.
It produced finest sipping whiskey; none of
that awful white lightning stuff.
Sour mash smooth as glass, with a hint
of jackpine used to stoke the fire. It was
aged more than a week. The good old boys
who bouht the stuff only had good things to say.
It cost half of a bottle of Jim Beam.
This is my third stint in the gray bar hotel.
The food is bad but the company is great.
They don't put tough guys in the county jail.
They treat me like a king. When they get out,they will buying my stuff.
Author: Mike Berger