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Way back yonder where the black bears roam,
Two old brothers built themselves a home.
Skeeter chopped wood, Jeff set the line,
Been livin’ off the land since nineteen-sixty-nine.
Cornbread in the skillet,
squirrel in the pot,
Wild berries, catfish, that’s all they got.
If it grows or runs,
it’ll end up on a plate,
They call that supper where they come from,
mate.
Hey, somebody go find Skeeter and Jeff,
They’re somewhere in the hills way off to the left.
Deep in the holler where the moonshine flows,
Ain’t nobody been there but the good Lord knows.
The town says, “Boys,
it’s time you see the world!” They just laugh and give their
beards a twirl. “Y’all keep your city—we’ll keep our still,” Life’s mighty
fine on that old back hill.
Skeeter says Walmart’s just a fancy bait shop,
Jeff thinks Wi-Fi’s something chickens got.
Never owned a cellphone,
never cared to try,
They still tell the weather by the buzzards in the sky.
Old hound dog barkin’,
rooster crowin’ loud, Neither one likes a big city crowd.
If you hear banjos echo through the pines,
You’re gettin’ mighty close to their county line.
Hey, somebody go find Skeeter and Jeff,
They’re hidin’ so good they forgot
themselves. Moonshine bubblin’ in an old copper still,
Smells like freedom on that backwoods hill.
The mayor says, “Come on into town!” They
grin and say, “We’ll pass that
down.” “We got fish to catch and deer to track,
You city folks can keep all that.”
If you finally find ‘em,
don’t make no fuss,
Bring some coffee and an old pickup truck.
Sit by the fire,
hear a tall tale or two,
They might even share a mason jar with you.
Skeeter and Jeff, they’re legends around,
The last old hillbillies for miles around.
Living free where the tall pines stand,
Making a living with their own two hands.
So if you’re tired of the rush and the noise,
Go spend a spell with them mountain boys.
Just don’t ask where that moonshine’s made…
They’ll smile and say,
“Now that’s a secret,
friend.”