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In the holler where the Appalachian mountains run though

There's a man brewing up the highest proof

A shotgun rifle and a head full of shake and bake

Felt the ground beneath the his copper still shake

A hole - ripped -

Right into the sky

And he could not

Believe his eyes

Then flashed down

A powerful radiant light

And carried him

And his still off in the night

Once inside

They probed into his mind

Do what we say

And you might live another day

But if not

You'll watch your body rot

All we need

Is your family's recipe

To go home

To the galaxies that we roam

But his pride

Would not let him

Would not let him

Would not let him

Abide

Well you can stab my mind a million times

But you ain't gonna find what your trying to find

I'd rather die

Than give my rye

Give us the recipe

Give us the recipe

Give us the recipe

Or you will surely die

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead

He's dead