Gene Watson – Harvest Time (Guitar)

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Cool and cloudy night upon Bull Mountain, Alabama

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I was stealing corn from Homer Lawson's field

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The rattle of the cornstalks and the bark of Homer's hound dog

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Made me hug the ground and lie dead still

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Flashing through my mind was Big Homer's reputation

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A man who freely didn't give a damn

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They say he shot ol' Mountain Joe for just one ear of corn

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And laughed the day they laid him in the ground

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Well, I can hear the breaking of the sticks from someone's footsteps

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But shaky legs just can't get up and run

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And as I lay there breathless, the next thing I expected

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Was a blast of hell from Homer Lawson's gun

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The clouds rolled by and then I saw the shadow of a lady

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It was Homer's lovely daughter Julie Ann

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I smelled the perfume in her hair as she sat down beside me

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Whispered, "Papa's running moonshine again"

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I thank God for cloudy nights and Alabama's whiskey stills

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And harvest times in Homer Lawson's field

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I thank God for cloudy nights and Alabama's whiskey stills

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And harvest times in Homer Lawson's field