Copper Canteen
By James McMurtry
Written by James McMurtry
CD: Complicated Game (2015)
Tabbed by Larry Mofle
6/1/2017

Requested by: rsmith on 6/22/2015
Also requested by: WranglerYJ, volf16, aubs7178


       D            D/C#       D/B         D/A         G     G/F#  Em 
Honey, don't you be yelling at me when I'm cleaning my gun
D             D/C#          D/B           D/A           G        G/F#  Em 
I'll wash the blood off the tailgate when deer season's done
       G                   A          G                     A 
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


Chorus 1:
  Bm                                                   G
I woke up last night in the grip of a fright scared to breathe for I might make a noise
     Bm                                                 G                           A
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

Chorus 2:
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