If you walked my road
with no shoes on your feet,
you’d probably feel the way I do.
If you lived my life
from day to day,
you’d probably say,
Lord, why me?
I work these hands to bleed,
'cause I’ve got mouths to feed.
I work these hands to bleed,
and I say, “Lord why me?”
I pray to God
for a shirt on my back,
my wife by my side,
food on our plates.
I’ll try my best
to keep my mouth shut.
I’ll do my part if you do yours.
I work these hands to bleed,
'cause I’ve got mouths to feed.
I work these hands to bleed,
and I say, “Lord why me?”
I did my part,
I played by your rules.
Never got my shirt,
never got my shoes.
If you won’t help,
well I know who will:
the neighbor to my left,
the neighbor to my right.
I work these hands to bleed,
'cause I’ve got mouths to feed.
I work these hands to bleed,
and I say, “Lord I’m glad I’m me.”