The Sheriff Searched for 40 Years. He Never Checked One Place.

Every Thursday for forty years, the sheriff came up the holler to search Grandpa's farm. He checked the woodpile, the well, even Grandma's sewing box… and he never found a thing. Funny how that works. 🤠 A tall tale from the Tennessee hills about a sugar-buying grandpa, a one-tooth grandma, a very sleepy bloodhound, and a lawman who always knew exactly where NOT to look. Stick around for the ending — you won't see it coming. If this one made you laugh, hit subscribe for more Appalachian story songs from Crooked Holler Boys. New songs every week. 👇 Tell us in the comments: did YOUR granddaddy have a "sweet tooth" too? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 🎵 LYRICS ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Verse 1] Grandpa bought a hundred pounds of sugar every week, Said "Grandma's got a sweet tooth" — well, she's got one tooth, so to speak. And every Thursday Sheriff Tate would come to search the farm, With a warrant and a flashlight — and a cooler 'neath his arm. [Chorus] Oh, the sheriff never found it, though he searched it high and low, Checked the woodpile and the well and Grandma's sewing box — real slow, Then he'd tip his hat and take a jar for evidence, just in case — Forty years of evidence, and somehow still no case. [Verse 2] When the revenue men from Knoxville came with badges, maps and pride, Tate said "Gentlemen, I'll help you," and he took 'em for a ride. He showed 'em every holler, every creek and every ridge, Then dropped 'em back in Knoxville — on the wrong side of the bridge. [Verse 3] Tate brought along his bloodhound, best nose in seven states, It sniffed out Grandpa's still in seconds — then slept three days straight. Tate wrote it in his logbook in his finest lawman's hand: "Dog searched the whole dang property. Dog found nothin'. Dog... couldn't stand." [Verse 4] At the county fair, Grandpa's "cider" took the ribbon every fall, The judges couldn't name the taste — or find their way back to the hall. And the man who pinned that ribbon? Well, I bet you've guessed by now — Ol' Tate pinned it on Grandpa, then took a nap beside a cow. [Verse 5] The preacher preached on Sunday 'bout the devil in the jar, Then on Monday came to buy one — parked his Buick kinda far. And Tate got re-elected eight times runnin', unopposed — 'Cause folks admire a lawman who knows when his eyes stay closed. [Bridge] Then one Thursday night I tiptoed after Grandpa through the pines, Past the creek and through the fence, past the sheriff's warnin' signs, And there beneath the walnut tree, a-glowin' copper bright, Stood ol' Tate in his pajamas — with his badge pinned on just right. He looked at me, I looked at him, and Grandpa took a sip: "Well, son, consider yourself deputized. Now button up your lip." [Final Chorus] Oh, the sheriff never found it, and now I know the trick: He searched in every holler 'cept his own — now ain't that slick? Still comes by every Thursday, tips his hat and takes a jar, 'Cause the best place you can hide a thing is right there where you are. "Evidence, son. Strictly evidence." ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ #countrymusic #bluegrass #appalachia