Lyrics

Hands of a working man

You say your day, your day's been rough
Pushing papers, the sting of paper cuts
Collar stiff n white, the shimmer of your shoes
Just what do you do that keeps your hands so smooth?

You're paid to speak words, I don't understand
You call that work & you call yourself a man
Expect my respect, well, hell, I'll be damned
All you've done is play, never worked a day,
I don’t even think you can

THESE ARE THE HANDS OF THE WORKING MAN
(They’re leather gloves, Ridged and rough)

You've been to schools, and you’ve learned from books
But your grip's the softest I've ever did shook
This new millennium is more than I can stand
Callused and worn, scabbed and torn, freckled and tan

THESE ARE THE HANDS OF. A WORKING MAN
(Often maimed and chronically stained, )

Hands of silk I once held in my claw
But I ain't the same man she once saw
Time's not been kind to this body of mine
Skin is baked, muscles ache from the daily grind

THESE ARE THE HANDS OF. A WORKING MAN
( sweaty flesh, wrinkled, rough and etched)