Tackle Box - Intellectual

[Verse 1]

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