| Now let me tell the story, I can tell it all
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| About the mountain boy who ran illegal alcohol
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| His daddy made the whiskey, son, he drove the load
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| When his engine roared,
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| They called the highway thunder road.
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| Sometimes into ashville, sometimes memphis town
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| The revenoors chased him but they couldn’t run him
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| Down
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| Each time they thought they had him,
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| His engine would explode
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| He’d go by like they were standin' still on thunder
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| Road.
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| And there was thunder, thunder over thunder road
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| Thunder was his engine, and white lightning was his
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| Load
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| There was moonshine, moonshine to quench the devil’s thirst
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| The law they swore they’d get him, but the devil got
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| Him first.
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| On the first of april, nineteen fifty-four
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| A federal man sent word he’d better make his run no More
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| He said two hundred agents were coverin' the state
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| Whichever road he tried to take, they’d get him sure as Fate.
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| Son, his daddy told him, make this run your last
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| Your tank is filled with hundred-proof,
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| You’re all tuned up and gassed
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| Now, don’t take any chances, if you can’t get through
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| I’d rather have you back again than all that mountain
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| Dew
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| Roarin' out of harlan, revving' up his mill
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| He shot the gap at cumberland,
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| And screamed by maynordsville
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| With g-men on his taillights, roadblocks up ahead
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| The mountain boy took roads that even angels feared
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| To tread.
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| Blazing' right through knoxville, out on kingston pike
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| Then right outside of Beardon, there they made the fatal
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| Strike
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| He left the road at ninety, that’s all there is to say
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| The devil got the moonshine and the mountain boy
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| That day |