The Ballad of Fletcher Hankins
Up in the mountains,
Beyond the hollers and hills,
Lived a young family
With a very old will.
Salt of the earth,
Tenacious and strong,
They would give birth
To the words of this song.
Years they had been there,
Too long to remember --
Tending their lives
'Til the last little ember.
Then the day came
When the government spoke,
And none was the same --
Though nothing had changed.
Grandpa Fletcher, a man of his word,
Sheriff's deputy, father, farmer and son --
Put his best foot forward
While dodging the gun.
But bullets will fly,
And none can avoid,
The stinging repercussions
They bring in the morn.
The whiskey still flowed
Though the government said "Nay!"
And Grandpa Fletcher did more
Than just hauling hay.
Corn liquor, moonshine,
A cure for what ails ye --
Call it what you will,
He was still in a bind.
Years of finagling
Had finally caught up,
And down the mountain they went
In a terrible rush.
Fleeing the revenuers
They crossed the state line,
And settled near High Point
In just the nick of time.
Down in the flatlands,
Far from the hollers and hills,
Lives a young family
With a very old will.
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