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