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Harvest Time
Gene Watson
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Cool and cloudy night up on Bull Mountain, Alabama
I was stealing corn from Homer Lawson's field
The rattle of the cornstalk and the bark of Homer's hound dog
Made me hug the ground and lie dead still
Flashing through my mind was big Homer's reputation
A man who freely didn't give a damn
They say he shot old Mountain Joe for just one ear of corn
Laughed the day they laid him in the ground
I could hear the breaking of the sticks from someone's footsteps
But shaky legs just can't get up and run
And as I lay there breathless, the next thing I expected
Was a blast of hell from Homer Lawson's gun
The clouds rolled by and then I saw the shadow of a lady
It was Homer's lovely daughter, Julianne
I smelt the perfume in her hair as she sat down beside me
Whispered, "Papa's running moonshine again"
I thank God for cloudy nights and Alabama whiskey stills
And the hardest times in Homer Lawson's field
I thank God for cloudy nights and Alabama whiskey stills
And the hardest times in Homer Lawson's field