I got a picture of him, barefoot in the mud.nBehind his grandpa's plow an' two great mules.nWhen he turned ten years old, on May 8, '53.nHe grew up fearin' God in Washburn, Tennessee.nThe closest thing he had to a Dad was his Uncle Bob.nAn' he could only dream of things like little league baseball.nAn' that little boy, with big blue eyes and calloused hands,nHuh, became my old man.nnWell she was a Kentucky girl, born on Valentine's Day.nThe fourth child of five to my Grandma, Eula May.nSo shy and beautiful with sunset hair and emerald eyes.nHer Daddy spent his life workin' in the coal mines.nNow in my eyes, all my life, my Daddy's been a Saint.nBut even Saints need Angels to show them the way.nAnd over thirty-seven years ago, he asked for Margaret Lynn's hand.nAnd that Angel married my old man.nnAnd there were times I tried to buck, the truthful things they said.nBut now I'm glad that, more than once, they rattled my stubborn head.n'Cause my folks are just like mountains, I looked at from afar.nBut now the closer I get to them, the bigger they are.nnThe time seems to fly anymore, and the holidays are so far apart.nThere's no way a 'phone call could express what's in my heart.nSo this is just a song to say how greatful I am.nFor Mamma and my old man.nnFor Mamma and Dad.