Sixty seven barrels and not a drop more!
Chants echoed through the hot country air
Bring back ours and leave by the door!
The youthful bellowed at their old mayor

In light of the resurrection of what wasn’t,
I stood by the old town post and wept a brook
Plumes of smoke covered the dust present
No more of what wasn’t. No more of the crook
But what wasn’t was bound to be sent
Now the town is all nothing by the book

Drunken with joy and belching out greed
The Devil strayed by my side and cheered on
“Look what the sons of men have agreed
Angered by the works of a partial cheer Don
Havoc they wreak! Lies they speak!
Swines! A day goes and they roast on sticks
The next nightfall their hunger turns to steaks!”

Cry babies! Envious of the gentlemen
Cranberry are virtues of the latter men
Swines and gentlemen. Swines and gentlemen

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