E
Well, my Uncle Mort
He's a hell of a sport.
A E
He weighs only a gallon or two.
E
But he thinks he's a giant
When you slip him a pint
B7 E
Of that good old mountain dew.
E
Oh, they call it that good ol' mountain dew
A E
And them that refuse it are few.
E
Oh, I'll hush up my mug
If you'll fill up my jug
B7 E
With that good old mountain dew.
Down the road here from me
There's a big hollow tree
Where you lay down a dollar or two.
Then you go around the bend
When you come back again
There's a jugful of mountain dew.
Well, my Uncle Mort
He's sawed off and short.
He measures up 'bout four feet two.
Well, you slip him a pint
and he thinks he's a giant
Of that good old mountain dew.
