I know 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 was tight.
Underneath the moon in the woods at night…
Makin’ the rounds ten miles a day,
Once a month they’d spot him, here’s what they’d say…
«Here he comes, he’s a man of the land.
He’s leatherman. Smile on his face, an axe in his pack.
He’s leatherman.»
Comes out of the caves once a day to be fed.
Wasn’t known to say but «Thanks for the bread.»
So modern day I walk my way, my jacket faded,
Just like a man of leather whom I may be related.
Rolled a cigarette, but when he asked for a light,
I thought he’d be an animal, but so polite.
Makin’ 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, an axe in his hand.
He’s leatherman.»