Grandpa Was a Bushman

Grandpa was a bushman

It was all he'd ever known

His daddy took him shooting guns

When he was six years old

His mama rode the saddle

Rusted spurs on her boots

The winters were rough and the times were tough

In Manitoba's Parkland Jewel

Far camp in the backwoods

Down that old logging road he would go

Hunting, fishing, trapping game

He'd check his lines alone

He'd head up in Duck Mountain

Set his sights on a moose

Then he'd get him a bear and a whitetail deer

And a big gray wolf to boot

Farming with his family

He worked his bushman hands to the bone

Planting seeds just to make ends meet

He'd watch them as they grow

Big ol' herd of cattle

And a team of horses too

He'd leave his wife at home with the kids alone

Just doing what he had to do

Grandpa was a bushman

Even when the farm had sold

He'd leave town in his pickup truck

And get lost on some dirt road

They'd find him in the valley

With tears in his eyes

He'd have to wipe them away in an old folks cage

But he would rather die

Yeah he would rather die