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