| Put no stone at my head, no flowers on my tomb
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| No gold plated sign in a marble pillared room
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| The one thing I want when they lay me in the ground
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| When I die, tear my stillhouse down
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| Oh tear my stillhouse down, let it go to rust
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| Don’t leave no trace of the hiding place where I made that evil stuff
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| For all my time and money, no profit did I see
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| That old copper kettle was the death of me
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| When I was a child way back in the hills
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| I laughed at the men who tended those stills
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| But that old mountain shine, it caught me somehow
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| When I die, tear my stillhouse down
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| Oh tear my stillhouse down, let it go to rust
|
| Don’t leave no trace of the hiding place where I made that evil stuff
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| For all my time and money no profit did I see
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| That old copper kettle was the death of me
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| Oh tell all your children that Hell ain’t no dream
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| 'Cause Satan he lives in my whiskey machine
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| And in my time of dying, I know where I’m bound
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| So when I die, tear my stillhouse down
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| Oh tear my stillhouse down, let it go to rust
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| Don’t leave no trace of the hiding place where I made that evil stuff
|
| For all my time and money no profit did I see
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| That old copper kettle was the death of me |