Golden Lyrre Music Publishing: Music

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Granddad Grandson
By Andrew Mrosla

My Granddad had a back porch, a thirty-ot six and a four ten
Thirty acres of his own, passed down from his old man

I’d shoot cans off a wire fence, fire shot gun blasts up in the air
I always seemed to miss that clay, Granddaddy never cared

He never passed the eighth grade, he worked the farm from childhood on
Couldn’t read or write to well, but was the wisest man I’ve known

He taught me bout’ the good word, put lord in terms I’d understand
Told me what it takes to live, What it takes to be a man

I never knew my father
Momma tried so hard to find me one
But I wouldn’t change a thing
I’m my Granddad’s Grandson

He had an old guitar, I taught myself to play it well
Well good enough for me, and good enough for him

He’d strum his mandolin, shout out the chords for me to play
Said keep pickin’ that guitar, you’ll be a Jerry Reed someday

I never knew my father
Momma tried so hard to find me one
But I wouldn’t change a thing
I’m my Granddad’s Grandson

Granddad passed one summer eve and on that long train ride home
My mind wondered back, to my childhood memories
In the midst of all my grief his voice rang out loud
And I stumbled to my knees, as he said

I never knew your father
And I don’t know why he choose to run
You made an old man proud you see
I’m your Granddad Grandson
I’m your Granddad Grandson