| It was two shades of brown and scratched up plastic.
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| It held extra line, lures, hooks, and matches.
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| With his last name engraved in black,
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| Right there by the handle on the top.
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| I’d slide it out of the back of his station wagon.
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| Lug it down the bank with my arm draggin'.
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| I could hardly wait for him
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| To lift the lid on that tackle box.
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| Chorus 1
|
| Cause I’d sail with across the South Pacific.
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| Stand beside him on the bow of that battle ship.
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| See him kiss the ground and thank the Good Lord Jesus.
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| And watch him run to Grandma, cryin' on the dock.
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| He opened up, every time he opened up That ole tackle box.
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| Verse 2
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| He’d bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories
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| About nickel Cokes, girls, and sandlot glories.
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| Pickup trucks and golden fields
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| Long before this town knew blacktop.
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| Chorus 2
|
| I was almost ridin' with him shotgun down those dirt roads
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| Takin' turns on a jug of homemade shine
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| As he raced his buddies down through Mason Holler
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| Fillin' the sky with dust and kicked up rocks
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| He opened up every time he opened up That ole tackle box.
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| He’s been gone twenty years tomorrow
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| But I’m still holdin' on to one more wish
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| That God above would let be borrow Grandpa
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| For one more afternoon and one more fish.
|
| Chorus 1
|
| 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. |