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These columns rising above the Blue Ridge

into the bright, crisp skies

through the hills of the Old Dominion

corn liquor flowing like the river below

the steam is rising past the pine tops

smell the mash as it burns, baby, burns, baby

Sins and transgressions have been washed away

In every parish and precinct, you can hear em pray

Them Osburn boys, pray they don't get pinched

This towns forgiven, cleansed of all our sins

In these hills and up the hollows

this town is living off the weakness of men

many of them have lost their lives here

buried 'neath this foggy mountainside

into this fog the smoke is rising

smell the shine as it flows, baby, flows, baby

Sins and transgressions have been washed away

In every parish and precinct, you can hear em pray

Them Osburn boys, pray they don't get pinched

This towns forgiven, cleansed of all our sins

See em run through the fog

Taste the virgin shine

tires scream, burnin' down

the thinning of the tribe

buried beneath hallowed ground

all them marked the same

every murder in this town

has liquor to blame

Bootlegger, bootlegger

pistol at his side

given a choice between him and me

the revenue man dies