Poor Southern Boys

Hard clay roads curving left to right, Black hot rods roar thou fogy nights, Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia hills, Tanks, White lighten, loaded to the gills. Big motors high speed winding roads, Cops, road blocks trying to get my load, G-man get to close I’ll dump it on the run, Evidence on the road you can watch it burn. Fancy gadgets, driven skills, it’s like magic, The G-man hunts for steels like a magnet, Hid deep in the woods no trials to find, Copper pots rolls of tube, a holler it’s time Shotguns, hounds, fires hot, its corn stew Poor southern boys, got to make a living too. G-man no matter where you go here in these hills, There always another load, another white lighten steel.