Copper Canteen

Honey don't you be yellin' at me when I'm cleaning my gun

I'll wash the blood of the tailgate when deer season's done

We got one more weekend to go

And I'd like to kill one more doe

So I'll shovel the side walk again cause you're still in a stew

And I bet the bridge tender's widow won't mind that I can't please you

She sure got the run of the men

Out here where the pickin's are thin there's not much to do

I woke up last night

In the grip of a fright

Scared to breathe for I might make a noise

But this life that we crave

So little we save

'tween the grandparent's graves and the grandchildren's toys

We grew up hard

And our children don't know what that means

We turned into our parents before we were out of our teens

Through series of Chevys and Fords

The occasional spin round the floor at the Copper Canteen

Now the bix boxes out on the bypass are shavin us thin

I guess we'll hold on a couple more years till the pension kicks in

Then we'll sell all the stock in the store

Leave only the lock on the door and wonder what then

When I wake up at night

In the grip of a fright

And you hold me so tight to your chest

And your breath on my skin

Still pulls me back in

Till I'm weigthless and then I can rest

So if Monseigneur should pull you aside as you're leavin the church

And I'm out on the ice droppin lines for the walleye and perch

Tell 'em it's not your job to bring me to the fold

And I'd rather stand out in the cold

And honey I know

The woodpile's low and you can't close the flue

So I'll split up a couple more chords 'fore the winter time's through

Hold on to your rosary beads

Leave me to my mischievous deeds like we always do