Copper Canteen

Honey, don't you be yelling at me when I'm cleaning my gun I'll wash the blood off 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 sidewalk again 'cause you're still in a stew I bet the bridge tender's widow won't mind that I can't please you She's sure got the run of the men Out here where the pickin's are thin and 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 This life that we craved so little we saved between the grandparents 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 a series of Chevys and Fords The occasional spin round the floor at the Copper Canteen Now the big boxes out on the bypass are shaving us thin I guess we'll hold on a couple more years 'til 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 Then your breath on my skin still pulls me back in 'til I'm weightless and then I can rest So if Monsignor should pull you aside as you're leaving the church And I'm out on the ice, dropping lines for the walleye and perch Tell him it's not your job to bring me to the fold And I'd rather stand out in the cold And honey I know that the woodpile's low and you can't close the flue So I'll split up a couple more cords 'fore the winter time's through Hold on to your rosary beads Leave me to my mischievous deeds like we always do