They are little more than a few old guns handed down the line.
Once owned by my Nana and Papa, but now they are mine.
They've been all the way to Utah, then back home to Texas again.
They've seen Colorado, Wyoming, and the Grand Canyon.
Hunting trips in the freezing snow and up before the sun.
They're now apart of me, I got the guns.
I never really got to know him I was much to young
He died on the Corpus Christi Bay when I was one.
A Christian man I barely knew, but he was oh so proud of me.
He ran the nursery at the church for free
"Amazing Grace how sweet the sound" he always sung
Sometimes I can hear him when I fire them guns
Chorus:
I've seen tears in grown men's eyes when they speak of their granddad
Then they laugh at how he spoiled then to the bone
I don