Clockout

Man asked me what I am

like the answer's on my badge.

I said, "I move a lot of boxes,

but that ain't a thing I am."

Twelve years of somebody's inventory,

twelve years of somebody's floor —

they can have my hands till the whistle,

they don't get a minute more.

'Cause the man who owns the building

don't own the man in it —

Clock out! (clock out!)

Leave it on the loading dock!

Clock out! (clock out!)

I'm a father past the parking lot!

They can call me by my number

all day long inside that wall —

out here I got a first name,

and a band, and a girl, and a ball.

Don't get me wrong, I do it well,

I take pride in what I make,

I'll out-work anybody breathing

and I'll do it with a smile.

But pride ain't the same as ownership —

they rent my afternoon.

They don't get my dinner table.

They don't get my dancing shoes.

So when that whistle cuts the air

I become a different man —

Clock out! (clock out!)

Leave it where the timesheet lives!

Clock out! (clock out!)

I ain't what a paycheck says!

They can have my back and shoulders

for exactly what they pay —

out here I'm somebody's whole world,

and the whole world's off the clock.

Whistle! (blow it!)

Jacket! (grab it!)

Door! (through it!)

Gone! (GONE!)

Clock out! (clock out!)

Leave it on the loading dock!

They can call me by my number

all day long inside that wall —

but my daughter's got a science fair

and I have never missed one yet.

That's the man. The rest is rent.

Clock out.