Deeze Old Hands

Buddy’s fingers were not his.

They had biz

Of their own.

And while he’d grown

Quite at home

Working those fingers

Doubt now lingers

Who runs them.

Sometimes not him.

They’d hurt him for no reason

And there seemed to be a season

When they wouldn’t work at all.

When Buddy sent the call

Pick this up, write that.

Those hands, they hollered back.

Just MAKE US! You fool!

We aren’t somebody’s tool!

You need to learn some manners

And ask real slow.

Cause the fingers are done now

And running the show.

You need to learn some manners

And what do you now know?

Should have made some closer friends

Ten damn fingers ago.

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