Lyrics

It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic
It held extra line, lures, hooks, and matches
With 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'
I could hardly wait for him
To lift the lid on that tackle box

Cause I'd sail with 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 ole tackle box

He'd bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories
About nickel Cokes, girls, and sandlot glories
Pickup trucks and golden 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 ole tackle box

He's been gone twenty years tomorrow
But I'm still holdin' on to one more wish
That God above would let be borrow Grandpa
For one more afternoon and one more fish

Cause I'd sail with 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 ole tackle box

Everything he loved, he kept locked up
In that ole tackle box
It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic