Well it’s good for what ails you,
So what ails you boy?
Careful with that stuff son,
It ain’t no toy.
Accept no substitutes bub across this land,
I got the answer to your prayers
In the palm of my hand.
It clears phlegm, cures gout – and drives demons out,
Makes the lame wanna dance – puts lead in your pants,
Clears the ague and flu – it’s sure good fer you.
Stops colds in their tracks – cures panic attacks,
Helps you rise every day – makes the hens start to lay,
Stops you being possessed – and puts hair on your chest.
Well it goes for a dollar,
So put Satan behind,
It contains al-kee-hol,
But the medicinal kind,
Recommended to you by the crowned heads of France,
Now the blind commence to see
And the lame start to dance.
Hand over your boxtops,
Stroll into the tent,
The hooch that’s in this stuff,
‘s about twelve per cent,
Better than your Hadacol and ol’ Dixie Dew,
It’s Kickapoo joy juice – a patented brew.