Apple Cider

When I was just a little kid
I lived in Coal Creek holler
I bought a rusty ol' lard press
It only cost a dollar
I took it home and cleaned it up
And made it good as new
As I admired my handy work
I Decided what to do
Apple cider! Apple cider!
Drink it cold or hot
How I like my apple cider
But it makes me trot
I gathered apples from the grove
Out behind the barn
Some were rotten, some were ripe
I didn’t give a darn
I ran THEM apples through the press
And squished them like a bug
It hardly took no time at all
To fill my cider jug
I let it ferment for a week
Before I took a swig
Thirty minutes later
I began to dance a jig
I took off running down the path
To save my weary hide
The outhouse door was shut and locked
And duly occupied