Well, my name's John Lee Pettimore.
Same as my daddy and his daddy's before.
You hardly ever saw grandaddy down here.
He'd only come to town about twice a year.
To buy a hundred pounds o' yeast and some copper line.
Everybody knew that he made moonshine.
Now, the revenuer man wanted granddaddy bad.
Headed up the holler with everything he had.
Before my time, but I've been told.
He never come back from Copperhead Road.

Granddaddy ran whisky in a big black Dodge.
Bought it at an auction at the Mason's Lodge.
"Johnson County Sheriff" painted on the side.
Just shot coat of primer, then he looked inside.
Well, him and my uncle tore that engine down.
I still remember that rumbling sound.
Then the sheriff came around in the middle of the night.
Heard momma crying, knew something wasn't right.
He was headed down to Knoxville with the weekly load.
You could smell the whisky burning down Copperhead Road.


I volunteered for the army on my birthday.
They draft the white trash first round here anyway.
I done two tours of duty in Viet Nam.
I came home with a brand new plan.
I'd take the seeds from Columbia and Mexico.
I just planted up a holler down Copperhead Road.
Now the D.E.A.'s got a chopper in the air.
I wake up screamin' like I'm back over there.
I learned a thing or two from Charlie, don't you know.
You better stay away from Copperhead Road.

__________________
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