Lyrics:

I took a little trip to Lynchburg, Moore County, Tennessee
I wanted to visit the spiritual home of good old Jasper (Jack) D.
But when I got to Lynchburg I couldn’t get a drop to try
The man in the place laughed in my face and said ’Sorry, Lynchburg’s dry’.

Dry as a bone, dry as a stone
Dry as fake tears down the telephone
Dry as tumbleweed rollin’ in the dust
Dry as a flame on a flake of rust
There’s nowhere as dry as the spiritual home
Of good old Jasper (Jack) D.

I must have looked kind of bewildered ’cos the man began to explain
He said ’Lynchburg’s dry as a Scotchman’s purse, no matter how much it rains.
If you ask for a drink in Lynchburg you’re always gonna be refused
Since nineteen-0-nine this town of mine is a place where you can’t buy booze’.

Dry as a well when the oil is gone
Dry as toast with no butter on
Dry as a tick in a tiger’s coat
Dry - so dry it sticks in my throat
There’s nowhere as dry as the spiritual home
Of good old Jasper (Jack) D.

Jack Daniel wouldn’t like it
It would make him cry
The home of his Tennessee Sour Mash
Is dry a shovel of cigar ash
The last place you can make a splash
Is here - ’cos Lynchburg’s dry.

’You can hunt like Davy Crockett, you can lie like Monica’s Bill
You can wheedle and plead till your eyeballs bleed but you can’t get a quarter gill
The angels here get plenty - poor sinners we get none
So don’t think twice, take my advice - and head for Kentucky, Son!’

Dry as your mouth after you’re sick
Dry as an oven for baking a brick
Dry as a gulch where warthogs play
Or a sinner’s tongue on Judgement Day
There’s nowhere as dry as the spiritual home
Of good old Jasper (Jack) D.