Ain't no one walk this earth more straight ahead
Than Garfield Brant a good man's dead
They don't build them like that no more
They don't have them more
He lived his life with a cigarettes
Ninety-three years old
And he trapped when it was cold
And he fished when it was warm
And he was out the door by four a.m
With a thermos under his arm
And he kept any quarters
But he had a Mountie on the back
And he burned his bacon
And he drank his coffee black
And he's out on the lake
With no hat on his head
Just a rod and a bottle
Just a bottle and a bed
He had soapstone eyes
And a saddle leather face
He wore his work shirt pressed
He kept a pen in place
He had a ring on a string
He had a picture in a locket
He kept his boat at the dock
He kept his players in his pocket
And he died standing up
Down at the water
I threw his ashes in the lake
With his great-granddaughter
Ain't no one walk this earth
More straight ahead
Than Garfield Brant
A good man's dead