Death and the West Virginia Hillbilly

it's not moonshine anymore
it's Oxycodone and Vicodin
he's not robbing banks he's got food-stamps
and a shoddy welfare apartment
he's not smoking a corn-cob pipe
on the front porch it's a cigarette
full of formaldehyde and god knows what
goes on in the folksy mind
of that gaunt guitarist
on the street corner the music's the same
but the dancing is manic