Letras
Sun ain't up but the truck lights glow,
Thermos coffee and a thermals coat.
Punchin' in while the town's still asleep,
We're layin' down bones where the skyline'll breathe.
Hard hat scarred, boots caked in mud,
Hands all cut from the rebar and blood.
Tower crane swings and the columns rise,
We're stitchin' this city to the morning sky.
And if you're lookin' for the backbone of this town,
You'll find it where the wind can knock you down.
We're the high steel heroes, walkin' on air,
Thirty floors up like we don't know fear.
Spud wrench singin' on a half-inch plate,
Bolt it up tight, no room for mistakes.
From the rod busters down in the dirt below,
To the raising gang ridin' that final load,
We build your world and most will never know-
The names of the hard-workin' ironworkers holdin' it all up,
But that's just how it goes.
Connector's callin', "Beam comin' in!"
Tag line whippin' in the crosswind again.
One foot on a flange, one hand on hope,
Tying off short on a skinny ass rope.
Welders throw sparks like a Fourth of July,
You taste burnt metal every breath you bite.
Checker marks chalk on column line,
Make it plumb, make it true, make it dead-on fine.
We don't wear crowns or Hollywood names,
Just bruised-up knuckles and achin' frames.
We're the high steel heroes, walkin' on air,
Thirty floors up like we don't know fear.
Spud wrench singin' on a half-inch plate,
Bolt it up tight, no room for mistakes.
From the detailers drawin' every line just so,
To the bolt-up gang where the cold winds blow,
We build your world and most will never know-
The names of the hard-workin' ironworkers holdin' it all up,
But that's just how it goes.
We miss first steps, ball games, Friday nights,
Trade 'em all in for the red-eye flights.
Chasin' that per diem, hotel life,
Tryin' to send enough home to the kids and the wife.