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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 draggin'.And I could hardly wait for himTo 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, cryin' on the dock.He opened up, every time he opened upThat old tackle box.He'd bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories'Bout nickel Cokes, girls, and sandlot glories.Pickup trucks and golden fieldsLong before this town knew blacktop.I was almost ridin' with him shotgun down those dirt roadsTakin' turns on a jug of homemade shineAs he raced his buddies down through Mason HollerFillin' the sky with dust and kicked up rocksHe opened up, every time he opened upSongtexteThat old tackle box.He's been gone twenty years tomorrowAnd I'm still holdin' on to one wishThat God above could let me borrow GrandpaFor one more afternoon and one more fish.'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, cryin' on the docks.He opened up, every time he opened upThat old tackle box.Yeah I'm sure every time he opened upThat old tackle box.It was two shades of brown scratched up plastic Aus Songtexte Mania