Luke Bryan - Tackle Box lyrics
[Luke Bryan - Tackle Box lyrics]
It was two shades of brown
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 dragging
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 battleship
See him kiss the ground and
Thank the good Lord Jesus
And watch him run to Grandma
Crying on the dock
He opened up, every time he opened up
That old tackle box
He'd bait my hook and keep on telling stories
'Bout nickel Cokes, girls
And sandlot glories
Pickup trucks and golden fields
Long before this town knew blacktop
I was almost riding with him
Shotgun down those dirt roads
Taking turns on a jug of homemade shine
As he raced his buddies
Down through Mason Holler
Filling 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 holding on to one wish
That God above could 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 battleship
See him kiss the ground and
Thank the good Lord Jesus
And watch him run to Grandma
Crying on the dock
He'd open up, every time he opened up
That old tackle box
Everything he loved he kept locked up
In that old tackle box it was two shades of
Brown scratched up plastic
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 dragging
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 battleship
See him kiss the ground and
Thank the good Lord Jesus
And watch him run to Grandma
Crying on the dock
He opened up, every time he opened up
That old tackle box
He'd bait my hook and keep on telling stories
'Bout nickel Cokes, girls
And sandlot glories
Pickup trucks and golden fields
Long before this town knew blacktop
I was almost riding with him
Shotgun down those dirt roads
Taking turns on a jug of homemade shine
As he raced his buddies
Down through Mason Holler
Filling 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 holding on to one wish
That God above could 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 battleship
See him kiss the ground and
Thank the good Lord Jesus
And watch him run to Grandma
Crying on the dock
He'd open up, every time he opened up
That old tackle box
Everything he loved he kept locked up
In that old tackle box it was two shades of
Brown scratched up plastic