(Come On In) The Whiskey's Fine

Me and my cousin Lendyl
Got lost hunting Coon
In the Carolina Mountains
Somewhere outside of Boone
We were just about to panic
When 'ol Lendyl saw the sign
It said, «Come on in! The whiskey’s fine.»
That old shack looked abandoned
Roof all fallin' in
Just some pertrified planks
And some rusty ol' tin
We both likely crapped our britches
When a voice from inside
Yelled, «Come on in! The whiskey’s fine.»
Then those swinngin' doors opened
He staggered out on the porch
Dressed just like Davey Crocket
Beard clear down to the floor
He said, «The band’s drunk, beer’s skunked
And we ain’t got no wine
But come on in! The whiskey’s fine.»
We peeked in over his shoulder
And the first thing that we saw
Was a boy pickin' a banjo
In a pair of overalls
He said, «That boy is half crazy
Plays the same song all the time
But Hey come on in! The whiskey’s fine.»
«The food will make you sick
The air will make you choke
The waitress ain’t a-workin'
And the Jukebox is broke.»
He said, «the band’s drunk, beer’s skunked
And we ain’t got no wine
But come on in! The whiskey’s fine.»
He said, «The pinballs won’t roll
The pool-table rocks
And it hotter than two rats in heat
Inside an old wool sock.»
«I wouldn’t drink the water
It tastes like turpentine
We’re WAY overpriced
And a little hard to find.»
«The band’s drunk, the beer’s skunked
And we ain’t got no wine
But come on in! The whiskey’s fine.»
«Ya'll come on it! The whiskley’s fine!»
«Ya'll come on in!
Aawwww, The whiskley’s fine!"