Lyrics

There’s at least a hundred stories
Inside that blue tin cup
I’ll tell you later what it means to me
But for now you should drink up
Grab that old guitar
And sing a song for dad and me
It's for sure he'll give a listen
From the bench between the trees

In the winter we were cutting trees
Down on that old dirt road
The snow and the cold north driving wind
Made the work a heavy load
When the weather got rough or at the end
Of the day we'd sit in that rundown shack
And from those blue tin cups
We’d throw the whiskey back

He told the story about the dead girl
In the car on Methodist Hill
Or a phone crank hooked up to
An old school desk to give a girl a thrill
There were stories of all the good times
And the ones about bad luck and whenever
He'd get empty he’d fill up his blue tin cup

There’s at least a hundred stories
Inside that blue tin cup
I’ll tell you later what it means to me
But for now you should drink up
So grab that old guitar
And sing a song for dad and me
It's for sure he'll give a listen
From the bench between the trees

So just keep the music coming
Until the sun comes up and whenever
You get empty just hand me that blue tin cup
Yeah whenever you get empty
Just hand me that blue tin cup