He's a moonshine lover,
working undercover
to steal hearts and pleasures
in street corners, diggin' treasures
scoring line after line
he says it's working fine,
he's got no reason yet
to hide. Not prone to forget
he keeps a sharpened mind
'cause him they will not find.

He runs from nothing, he says.
He's up to anything that pays,
providing there's an escape route.
Question motives and he'll refute
arguments with solid bashing.
He lives a world of streets clashing,
he loves the bare sound of love crashing,
and he knows the way his mind's flashing
at the start of every high.
A hand on every thigh -
he's got the lovin' way of cocaine
colliding with blood inside your brain,
he knows it feels good,
he knows you feel you should
go ahead and suck it in.
Never mind how they talk about sin,
this is the way, going from pain
and how to stray to avoid the rain.

He's a moonshine lover,
working undercover
in the dimmed street corner light,
always going for a fight,
always looking for a flight
into the dark, away from the bright.
He's a moonshine lover,
he works you undercover -
scoring line after line,
you know it's working fine,
he forgets he is a mine.
Have another line,
notice how he shine,
and everything is fine.