I heard about a man to whom I may be related. He`s leatherman. Died a long time ago in the 1880`s. Leatherman. Leatherman. Covered with leather but it wasn`t tight. Underneath a moon in the woods at night. Making the rounds ten miles a day. Once a month they`d spot him and here`s what they`d say.
"Here he comes. He`s a man of the land. He`s leatherman Smile on his face. Axe in his pack. He`s leatherman. Leatherman. Leatherman."
Comes out of the caves once a day to be fed. He wasn`t known to stay much but, "Thanks for the bread."
So, modern day I walk my way with my jacket faded just like a man of leather whom I may be related. Rolled cigarette for which he`d ask for a light. Appear to be an animal. Yet, so polite. Making the rounds ten miles a day. Once a month they`d spot him and here`s what they`d say
"Here he comes he`s a man of the land. He`s leatherman Smile on his face. Axe in his hand. He`s leatherman. Leatherman. Leatherman."
Leatherman. Leatherman. Shake his hand. He`s leatherman. Bake some bread. He`s leatherman. Shame he`s dead. I saw his bed. It`s all that`s left of leatherman. Leatherman. Give me some skin Leatherman.
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