by Harold R Hunt Sr
On the mountain top
Old grandpa is making his gin again
He presses the corn to fill the pot.
All the way to the top.
The bottles they rattle with the wind just waiting for that gin.
Grandpa he tastes with delight.
Saying it will be gin again before night.
The smell fills the air that might bring the law.
Grandpa is all most drunk.He stumbles and yells
It's Gin again