Working Man's Hands

I sure like music, I sure like to dance
I do it as often as I get the chance
I'd love to play fiddle in some old-time band
But I can't play the fiddle with these working man's hands

[Chorus:] A working man's hands are all
calloused and worn
Seems like they've been that way since I
was born
No palm-reading gypsy could tell me a thing
My future and past are both there to be
seen

Master of some trades, jack of 'em all
I'll rebuild your engine or frame up a wall
And the tool is a rare one that these hands
don't know
but they're just too clumsy for fiddle and
bow

[Chorus]

I can count on my fingers mistakes that I've
made
with hammers and wrenches and spinning
saw blades
But a sweet singing fiddle puts me in a
trance
Then in my mind my fingers can dance

[Chorus]