Hang It Up, Old Workhorse

Four-thirty alarm went quiet today First time in forty years Same gate since '85, same locker, number nine Lunch pail with the dent from where you dropped it on the line You stood through summer swelter and the winters with no heat And never missed a Monday on those bad knees and flat feet You called it just a paycheck We called it everything Forty years on the line, Dad — today you punch out proud Two kids through school, a mortgage paid, one shift at a time The whistle's blowing one last call, and we're the cheering crowd Hang it up, old workhorse — the rest of life is yours, not the line's The smell of grease and metal that came home inside your shirt The hands that turned to leather and the back that's earned its hurt There's a fishing rod been waiting in the corner of the shed And a sunrise with no time clock standing anywhere ahead Forty years you gave the plant your mornings Now they're yours to spend Forty years on the line, Dad — today you punch out proud Two kids through school, a mortgage paid, one shift at a time The whistle's blowing one last call, and we're the cheering crowd Hang it up, old workhorse — the rest of life is yours, not the line's Every shoe I ever laced, every plate set at our table Came off that line with your name on it — strong and built to last Forty years on the line, Dad — today you punch out proud Two kids through school, a mortgage paid, one shift at a time The whistle's blowing one last call, and we're the cheering crowd Hang it up, old workhorse — the rest of life is yours, not the line's Sleep in tomorrow, Dad The fish are waiting on you now