Tackle Box

       D
It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic.
        G
It held extra line, lures, hooks, and matches.
     A
With his last name engraved in black,
G                                    D
Right there by the handle on the top.
    D
I'd slide it out of the back of his station wagon.
G
Lug it down the bank with my arm draggin'.
A
I could hardly wait for him
   G                             D
To lift the lid on that tackle box.

          G                              D
Cause I'd sail with across the South Pacific.
       A                                        D
Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship.
        G                                        D
See him kiss the ground and thank the Good Lord Jesus.
               A                              Bm
And watch him run to Grandma, cryin' on the dock.
   A        Em          D/F# G
He opened up, every time he opened up
A                   D
That ole tackle box.

     D
He'd bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories
      G
About nickel Cokes, girls, and sandlot glories.
A
Pickup trucks and peanut fields
G                                 D
Long before this town knew blacktop.

               G                                          D
I was almost ridin' with him shotgun down those dirt roads
A                                    D
Takin' turns on a jug of homemade shine
         G                                    D
As he raced his buddies down through Mason Holler
A                                        Bm
Fillin' the sky with dust and kicked up rocks
   A       Em           D/F#  G
He opened up every time he opened up
A                  D
That ole tackle box.

Bm                               G
He's been gone twenty years tomorrow
    D                                  A  (Bb)
But I'm still holdin' on to one more wish
     Bm                            G
That God above would let be borrow Grandpa
    D                 G             A
For one more afternoon and one more fish.

          G                              D
Cause I'd sail with across the South Pacific.
         A                                   D
Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship.
         G                                       D
See him kiss the ground and thank the Good Lord Jesus.
               A                             Bm
And watch him run to Grandma, cryin' on the dock.
   A       Em           D/F#  G
He opened up, every time he opened up
A                D
That ole tackle box.

                 Em     D/F#     G
Everything he loved, he kept locked up
    A             D
In that ole tackle box.
       D
It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic.

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