I remember when I was just a boy,
in the hot summer sun,
standing next to my Grandpa,
you know he was the only man I ever knew
who could truly talk to God.
He never drank much water
when he worked out in the fields,
he used to ride me on his tractor,
and to a little boy, what a thrill.
His older brother, well, he had an old mule,
we used to drag his sled behind
and in the summertime we'd grind molasses too.
Been fifteen winters since Grandpa passed away,
but sometimes late at night
I can still hear that old fiddle when he played.
My heart is hard, my soul grows weak,
my tears run shallow as a muddy creek.
My days are numbered,
and my nights are long,
God gave his son for the altar call.
Fifteen winters ago,
when I went out on the road.
Seeking my fame and fortune
with a rock & roll show.
High dollar bottles of wine, and big airliners,
never could compare to the fields I used to plow
with Grandpa as a child.
My heart is hard, my soul grows weak,
my tears run shallow as a muddy creek.
My days are numbered,
and my nights are long.
God gave his son for the altar call.
My heart is hard, and my soul grows weak,
my tears run shallow as Muddy Creek.
My days are numbered, and my nights are long ...
God shed his blood for the altar call.
I remember when I was just a boy,
in the hot summer sun,
standing next to my Grandpa,
you know he was the only man I ever knew
who could truly talk to God.
in the hot summer sun,
standing next to my Grandpa,
you know he was the only man I ever knew
who could truly talk to God.
He never drank much water
when he worked out in the fields,
he used to ride me on his tractor,
and to a little boy, what a thrill.
His older brother, well, he had an old mule,
we used to drag his sled behind
and in the summertime we'd grind molasses too.
Been fifteen winters since Grandpa passed away,
but sometimes late at night
I can still hear that old fiddle when he played.
My heart is hard, my soul grows weak,
my tears run shallow as a muddy creek.
My days are numbered,
and my nights are long,
God gave his son for the altar call.
Fifteen winters ago,
when I went out on the road.
Seeking my fame and fortune
with a rock & roll show.
High dollar bottles of wine, and big airliners,
never could compare to the fields I used to plow
with Grandpa as a child.
My heart is hard, my soul grows weak,
my tears run shallow as a muddy creek.
My days are numbered,
and my nights are long.
God gave his son for the altar call.
My heart is hard, and my soul grows weak,
my tears run shallow as Muddy Creek.
My days are numbered, and my nights are long ...
God shed his blood for the altar call.
I remember when I was just a boy,
in the hot summer sun,
standing next to my Grandpa,
you know he was the only man I ever knew
who could truly talk to God.