Driving down route sixty five. Radio blaring and having a good time.
A sticker of mason in front of my truck.
A sign from my great grandfather to have good luck.
I never meet him but I know him like mike
He’s a man I know I’d like
Relax for a bit near the fire with friends. I never want this night to end.
Clean the pile and a bottle or two. I can’t sleep without noticing you.
The flames rise and fly to the sky’s. And wonder how high that heat can soar.
Up to the heavens and in through that door.

Bill was a worker, it’s easy to see. My father’s grandfather is right next to me.
Could fix a pile of rubble with some nails and twine.
Centuries later his reputation is a wicked nice guy.
As the wind blows through me like whiskey and wine.
I somehow know that it’s my time.
The year has come for greatness to rise.
Cause I’m the great grandson of that hell of a guy.
So ill raise my glass up high in the air.
Then Say a toast to old bill and sit right here.