Copper Canteen

Two, three, four

Honey, don't you be yellin' at me when I'm cleanin' 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

And 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

And 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

'Tween 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 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

Then, your breath on my skin still pulls me back in

Till I'm weightless and then I can rest

So, if Monsignor 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 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