The Money Grows On Trees Willi Carlisle

I sold my first joint in my sixteenth year
The same time Baker got elected sheriff around here
The county clerk must've thought it weird
How far the ballot box was off

In the Ozark hills, in the country of God
We know the kinda money prohibition brought
When Reagan made his war on pot
He made outlaws of us all

Well, I stole heirloom seeds from Humboldt soil
Maui-Wowie, Diesel, and the Cali Gold
The White Widow's the best I'm told
For the hills of Arkansas

And ten miles from any blacktop road
On a couple hidden acres with a mobile home
A short way away from where the sheriff was born
I started my first grow

20-watt bulbs and styrofoam
Bush-hog, shovels, and a mile of hose
They warned me at the hardware store
They said, "The law knows what hippies grow"

But haulin' chicken shit in my junked out truck
I would sell anything for a greasy buck
I'm Sam Walton, I'm JB Hunt
I'm a job creator, I'm a dangerous one