Papa was a steel-headed man by Robbie Fulks
Just a simple kind from way out in the country
It's a mystery how he won Momma's hand
For as long as I remember, she would tell me:
"Your Papa, he's a steel-headed man."
Every day at 6 a.m. he'd be out plowing
Trying to make a buck on our acre plot of land
But for all his work, we never had much money
Papa was a steel-headed man.
Never had no schooling
And he never left the farm
Never had a thing to show but the muscle in his arm
Yeah, the world was just a little more than he could understand
Papa was a steel-headed man
He used to tell us stories from the Bible
His homespun wisdom I still recall
It was only as a man I came to find out
That he didn't know much about anything at all.
He couldn't read a book and keep his lips from moving
Or add 2 and 2 without looking at his hands
He thought laughter was a vice and Jews were evil
I declare! He was a steel-headed man.
Well, I had to shed a tear for my poor daddy
This morning when we put him in the ground
And as I watched the dirt he'd worked fall on his coffin
I wondered where, in such a life, a larger meaning or purpose could be found.
For he lived as quietly and ignorantly as an animal
He died pathetic, penniless, and alone
And the worst thing is, even if he had been a perfect genius...
A hundred years from now, who would've known?