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I need a whole new set of problems
Said the preacher to the thief
I've seen nothing here but miracles
And it's shaking my belief
And if everything's a miracle
The saints are just a mob
And the man who works the wonders is just trying to do his job
Hail to the Working Man, my son
Up to trying to get it done
When every horse needs water and every weed needs sun
Hail to the Working Man my friend
He won't clock out til the end
When every saint and sinner's race is run
My grandpa was a preacher
The Pentecostal kind
And they take the Lord so seriously you'd think they'd lost their minds
They pray out loud, speak in tongues
Some might take up snakes
But my grandpa was a working man
And he never took a break
Hail to the working man like pop
Never saw him drink a drop
He knew what I was up to, but he never called the cops
Hail to the Working Man on high
Give us plenty fish to fry
He might judge you but He'll never make you stop
Well I've stood on every corner
Said the thief for his reply
And I've never seen a miracle
Not one I've recognized
But way up in the northland
Where the weather goes beserk
And the sun stays up til midnight boy
There's plenty time to work
Hail to the Working Man my son
Just trying to get it done
When every horse needs water and every weed needs sun
Hail to the working man my friend
He won't clock out till the end
When every saint and sinners race is run
When every saint and sinners race is run
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