Dad, Mike, sixty candles look good tonight You tell those same three fishing stories I know each turn before you speak Still, I wait to hear the ending
Here's to sixty years, Dad, Mike Tell those three fishing stories again Burn the steaks and keep that Ford I wouldn't change a thing tonight
That nineteen ninety eight Ford stays yours You refuse to sell it, same as ever The grill sends smoke across the plates We laugh and scrape our steaks together
Here's to sixty years, Dad, Mike Tell those three fishing stories again Burn the steaks and keep that Ford I wouldn't change a thing tonight
Another birthday, and your stories still hold me Even when I know each word
Here's to sixty years, Dad, Mike Tell those three fishing stories again Burn the steaks and keep that Ford I wouldn't change a thing tonight
Happy sixtieth, Dad; tell one more tonight
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