"Clean Clothes and Money"

Thirteen years in a factory where they make me wear white

In a job that deals with oil, grease and sludge

I walk past the big boss with his pristine uniform and

In his eyes I see he is very quick to judge

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But he doesn't seem to notice the calluses and blood

That once was the flesh of my hands

All he seems to care about is money and an image

Nothing 'bout real work he understands

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My boy, on his way to school, meets me out on the front porch

He takes one look at my dirty uniform

I can tell by the look upon his face and rolling eyes

That he's about to crack a smile and laugh a storm

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I lay down in bed, clench my fists and grimace at the pain

Of another blister bursting on my hand

All I can do is lay there and laugh myself to sleep

Hoping one day that boss man will understand

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But I know that man will never see the calluses and blood

That once was the flesh upon my hands

While money and his image are the keys to his success

He'll go on ignoring the working man -

- 'cause there are some things that a sitting man will never understand

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I sat before my son's teacher one night at his school

As I am required to do about two times a year

And the words that she spoke kind of took me by surprise

I hope she didn't see me shed that tear

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She spoke about how I came home with the dirtiest of clothes

And how I work harder than any man around

And I guess he said to his class, "You ought to see Dad's hands

"They always bleed but he doesn't make a sound."

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Now I don't care if that boss of mine ignores the calluses and blood

From the work I do with these two hands

Damn all that big money and to hell with keeping an image

The important people will always understand

Clean clothes and money does not make the man