It wasn't one to talk much when we pulled off to schoolI could never tell what's running through his mindIt'd be three more hours until those halls are fullBut long walls don't run on nine to fiveI didn't get it then every day that man would fightTo punch the clock and make it home aliveHe's got minor imperfectionsBlame it on his rootsCalluses on his handsCordas on his bootsHe's not one for conversationWhen there's work to doPapaw said get paid in cashCompany scripts and newsThem city folks would shame him if he let themHe's proud of his minor imperfectionsYears have by and I grew up his brown hair faded whiteHe somehow picks up every time I callMoved me in, bailed me outAnd shared all he knows about meLike how to pair a diamond to a girlHis heart had just cut me deep when I was just a boyI saw his face light up when those grandchildren were bornHe's got minor imperfectionsBlame it on his rootsCalluses on his handsCordas on his bootsHe's not one for conversationWhen there's work to doHe told me do what you loveMisery's the newsThem city folks would shame him if he let themBut I'm proud of his minor imperfectionsI don't mind low coalBut my collar's still stained blueMy kids look up at meThe way I looked at himFor those little onesThere's nothing I won't doI hope one dayThey can understandI've got minor imperfectionsI'm proud of my rootsAnd calluses on my handsSinging to a roomI'm not one for conversationWhen I've got work to doI tell my kidsDo what you loveAnd I tell my kidsAnd Papaw told me toAnd city folks try to shame me nowAnd they don't mindI'm proud of my minor imperfectionsI'm proud of my minor imperfectionsI'm proud of my minor imperfectionsI'm proud of my minor imperfectionsI'm proud of my minor imperfections