It was two shades of brown and 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 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 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 old tackle box

He'd bait my hook and keep on tellin' stories
'Bout nickel cokes, girls, and sandlot glories
Pickup trucks and peanut fields
Long before this town knew blacktop

I was almost ridin' with him shotgun down those dirt roads
Takin' turns on a jug of homemade shine
As he raced his buddies down through Mason Holler
Fillin' 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 holdin' on to this one wish
That God above would 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 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 old tackle box

Yeah, sure I love
Every time he opened up
That old tackle box

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC
Writer(s): JOE DOYLE, LUKE BRYAN