So I'm trying to re-landscape an old country club, And I'm working an old backhoe, And it's faulty. (Of course it is.) And there's an old lady in the cab beside me, And she's bitching and griping about every single thing I do. (Of course she is.) And the generator ain't Jenin', And the hydraulics ain't tippin the load over like it's supposed to. (Of course it ain't.) So I crawl out on the arm, Straddle the bucket cylinder With my feet swingin free. I start pickin' the rocks up out of the basket by hand And throwin them down on the ground hard. It's kinda fun. (Of course it is!) Then an old man screams at me! Tells me he made those rocks himself! (Of course he did...) Along time ago. (Of course it was.) He's got something special he wants to do with them someday. (Of course he does.) And the carburetor ain't carbin'. Suddenly, it dawns on me, That if you DO ANYTHING, Someone's going to criticize, So you might as well do what you really want to do, So at least you can enjoy that. I'm taking a long hard look at this mountain, Because right now, My pistons, they ain't working either. (Of course they're not.) But I also realize, I never really wanted to move this mountain anyway. I only wanted to sing to it. (Of course I did.)