They’re a Man’s Man’s Man’s Gloves

These are a man’s gloves
These are a man’s gloves
And they make ‘em for covering, covering a fella’s fingers up

You see, man makes a trip to the store for some beer
Man goes to football games and sits in cold stands to cheer
Man braves the frosty night to take the dog out to pee
And man does his daily commute even when it’s 22 degrees

These are a man’s, a man’s, a man’s gloves
And they make ‘em for covering, covering a fella’s fingers up

Man thinks about the little leather gloves in which his hands are wrapped
They’re how man avoids frostbite, and getting his knuckles chapped
And when man gets on a subway car, and grabs that pole you’re sposeda hold
Even though it’s frigid metal, his fingers don’t get cold

These are a man’s gloves
And they make ‘em for covering, covering a fella’s fingers up

He could be lost in the wilderness
At least his hands wouldn’t freeze, I guess

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