1 Now some people say a man’s made out of mud,

But a poor man’s made out of muscle and blood,

Muscle and blood, skin and bones,

A mind that’s weak, and a back that’s strong.

CHORUS:

You load sixteen tons and what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt.

Saint Peter, don’t you call me ’cause I can’t go,

I owe my soul to the company store.

2 I was born one mornin’ when the sun didn’t shine,

I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine,

I loaded sixteen tons of number nine coal

And thestrawboss hollered, ‘ Well, damn my soul!’ (CHO.)

3 Now when you see me cornin’, you better step aside,

Another man didn’t and another man died;

I’ve got a fist of iron and a fist of steel,

If the right one don’t get you, the left one will, (CHO.)