Lyrics

On a hill by a brook in an old wooden shack
There lived a man of 63 
As a boy I would go and I’d shovel his snow 
In fall I'd help him rake the leaves 
As a way to repay he would give me his day 
He’d tell me everything he knew 
Walking high on the hills through the valley so still 
We’d spend our Sunday afternoons

And we’d walk through the fields of his orchard trees
And we’d sit and talk ‘bout hopes and dreams
And the way that he cared and the stories he’d share
It was my grandfather’s way

He was solid and thick he was nimble and quick 
His hands were like to catchers gloves 
And the lines on his face told a story of grace 
And God had written it with love 
With nary a look he would pass me the hook 
And then he'd help be fish the line 
As the years they went by I can honestly say 
This man he was a friend of mine

And we’d walk through the fields of his orchard trees
And we’d sit and talk ‘bout hopes and dreams
And the way that he cared and the stories he’d share
It was my grandfathers way

Well the years they went by just like clouds in the sky 
And soon I grew and moved away
But I still heard his voice and I still saw his face
And I thought about him everyday
Then one night all alone on the telephone 
I heard that he passed away 
Well I cried and I cried and as I whispered goodbye 
And I thought about our special days

And we’d walk through the fields of his orchard trees
And we’d sit and talk ‘bout my hopes and dreams
And the way that he cared and the stories he’d share
It was my grandfathers way
It was my grandfathers way
Ow ow ow ow ow ow