A Proper Tool

You give a boy a proper tool, He’ll dig himself a hole. Won’t matter if he’s fully grown, Or barely eight years old. Oh, you can run him through the bath, Put on his Sunday shirt, But if you take your eye off him, You’ll find him in the dirt. And if he’s ever feeling down, One thing will never fail; Just send him out into the woods And let him carve a trail. There’s something raw, there’s something pure ‘Bout clay and rock and sand; It might just be ‘cuz God ordained That we should work the land.