Hands

They’re torn and cracked, whethered and worn
Ripped and bruised and brown and strong and they may not be
Beautiful
But they get the job done
And they can cut a calf and rope a cow
Set a trap, shoot coyotes, hold the reins, twist wire
They work like a man, even though they look small
My hands may not be your kind of beautiful
Two silver rings and no diamond things
Burnt from cast-iron in the branding fire
Painted up on a Saturday night
They can be pretty good for breaking up a fight
My hands may not be your kind of beautiful
And they can cut a calf and rope a cow
Set a trap, shoot coyotes, hold the reins, twist wire
Sew a patch for a baby boy
They may look small, but they work like a man
My hands may not be your kind of beautiful
Sometimes they fail me when I don’t know quite what to do
But they’ll never hide they’ll never stay or have to hide
They’re hard working and always will
They can cut a calf and rope a cow
Set a trap, shoot coyotes, hold the reins, hold a hand, twist wire
They live for God, and they work like a man
My hands may not be your kind of beautiful
Your kind of beautiful
They’re torn and cracked
Ripped and bruised and they’re
Beautiful
And they get the job done