Whiskey Selling Woman

I feel superstitions, somethin’s goin' on wrong
I feel superstitions, somethin’s goin' on wrong
I’ve got my house full of beer, and my backyard full of corn1
I’ve got four cases, tomorrow at that county jail
I’ve got four cases, tomorrow at that county jail
And two is for my whisky, and two is for my forfeit bail
The judge he said, put a padlock on my door
The judge he said, put a padlock on my door
And I can’t sell whisky, and I can’t give parties no more
I will sell my whisky, to the chief of police in town
I will sell my whisky, to the chief of police in town
And if he don’t like my whisky, he’s welcome to ride me down
If I had a thousand dollars, judge I’d take my way
If I had a thousand dollars, judge I’d take my way, hey hey
And I would make this whole town, sloppy drunk one day
I would build me a still2, on every street in this town
I would build me a still, on every street in this town
And I wouldn’t allow police, eighteen miles around