From Bimini's shore, the moon hangs low, Across the Straits, the currents flow. My engine purrs, a whispered plea, A cargo packed for destiny. No honest work for a sailor's hand, It's liquid gold we bring to land, to land we bring liquid gold. The Coast Guard cutter, sharp and keen, A hungry shadow on the scene. We play the game, a daring chase, With salty spray upon my face. A hidden cove, a whispered word, No thirsty soul can go unheard, unheard no thirsty soul can go. Old 'Shine' Malone, he ran the line, From backwoods stills, a potent wine. He brewed his corn by cypress knee, For thirsty folks, both wild and free. The copper coil, the smoky fire, He fed the craving, raised it higher, higher he raised the craving. They say the G-men came and went, But still, the good times would be sent. From Okeechobee's swampy edge, To city lights, a silent pledge. The speakeasy door, a friendly knock, The hour was late, and late was the hour, for the clock.
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