Always something

Out on the Ingraham sixty-five, where the old roads twist and bend,

Me and Brett still ride those trails like Dad ain’t gone, just ahead.

Boots crunch through the cedar needles, frosty mornings in the pines,

Looking for sheds and deer beds where the big bucks spend their time.

Mookie runs out front wide open, nose down chasing every scent,

Treeing cats and finding sticks like heaven’s what that dog was sent.

Streams cut cold through mossy rocks, little pools black as coffee grounds,

And every ridge and hidden hollow still feels like Dad’s old hunting grounds.

Chorus

And Dad would say, “Start making, boys, and quit all that damn spending,”

Keep your boots down in the dirt and trust the road is never ending.

So we keep pushing through the breakdowns, busted parts and muddy ruts,

Hoping someday all this chaos turns to laughter and good luck.

Brett’ll throw a backflip someday, Mookie’ll find that magic stick,

And I’ll be rolling through the woods behind that old tractor again.

We’d cut trees out there for firewood, trying to clear another lane,

But my chainsaw snapped and sputtered, wouldn’t even start again.

Then the wood splitter started leaking, hydraulic fluid everywhere,

We just laughed and shook our heads like, “Figures… nothin’s fair.”

Then Uncle Eric stole the side-by-side, got loaded on brandy and crack,

Came home smashed and half alive with busted parts hanging off the back.

Brett paid cash to buy the piece, I crawled under there to fix the thing,

Eric says, “That sucks boys… let me know when it runs, I need more wood this spring.”

Verse

Then I dumped bad gas in my pickup, water hiding in the tank,

Now the damn thing shakes and sputters every time I leave the bank.

Check engine light flashing angry, smells like sulfur when it climbs,

Feels like every piece of iron I own picked this year to die.

Then the tractor lost its drain plug way out deep there in the woods,

Oil pouring down the skid plate, engine sounding bad for good.

Now Brett’s truck lost all its brakes, had to tow the damn thing home,

Mom got mad and yelled, “Quit calling me! Just trade the fucking thing in!” on the phone.

But me and Brett just looked at each other like we always do,

“Alright… one more mess to crawl through.”

Chorus

And Dad would say, “Start making, boys, and quit all that damn spending,”

Don’t waste your life complaining when there’s fences left for mending.

So we keep wrenching through the breakdowns, late nights covered up in grease,

Still chasing deer signs through the cedars trying to find a little peace.

Brett’ll throw a backflip someday, Mookie’ll bark beneath the pines,

And I’ll follow slow behind them in that tractor one more time.

Outro

Out on the sixty-five acres where the cool streams still run cold,

Dad’s somewhere in those woods laughing while we fight these worn-out roads.

And maybe things are busted now, maybe money’s running thin,

But me and Brett’ll get it rolling…

Like we always have again.