Tackle Box

It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic It held extra line, lures, hooks, and matches And his last name engraved in black Right there by the handle on the top I'd slide it out of the back of his station wagon Lug it down the bank with my arm draggin' And I could hardly wait for him To lift the lid on that tackle box 'Cause I'd sail with him across the South Pacific Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship See him kiss the ground and thank the good Lord Jesus And watch him run to grandma, cryin' on the dock He opened up, every time he opened up That old tackle box He'd bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories 'Bout nickel cokes, girls, and sandlot glories Pickup trucks and peanut fields Long before this town knew blacktop I was almost ridin' with him shotgun down those dirt roads Takin' turns on a jug of homemade shine As he raced his buddies down through Mason Holler Fillin' the sky with dust and kicked up rocks He opened up, every time he opened up That old tackle box He's been gone twenty years tomorrow And I'm still holdin' on to this one wish That God above would let me borrow grandpa For one more afternoon and one more fish And I'd sail with him across the South Pacific Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship See him kiss the ground and thank the good Lord Jesus And watch him run to grandma, cryin' on the dock He opened up, every time he opened up That old tackle box Yeah, sure I love Every time he opened up That old tackle box --- Tackle Box - Luke Bryan