[Verse 1: Biker-rock male lead, heavy pounding drums, big chugging guitars, raw biker-rock howl] Twelve Octobers it's been hangin' on a nail out in the shed Smellin' like two-stroke and coffee and the last thing that he said Every year I pull it down and every year it wins Shoulders hangin' to my elbows, sleeves are swallowin' my hands Mama said give it time, you'll fill it out someday I said Ma, it ain't the leather, it's the man that's in the way He was six-foot-two of quiet with a laugh like a dropped wrench I was nineteen and a mouth, couldn't sit still on a bench [Hook: Biker-rock male lead, full band, twin guitars ringing] It's a hand-me-down, and it finally fits across the back Twelve years hangin' on a nail, now I'm wearin' the old man's black Zip the hand-me-down, pull it tight up to the chin You can't fill a coat like that, you gotta grow into him [Verse 2: Biker-rock male lead, rumbling bass guitar, drums driving, biker-rock howl rising] This year somethin' different, didn't feel it hang Pulled it on and it settled like it knew me by the frame Rolled my shoulders, cracked the leather, looked into the glass Saw his jaw in my reflection and I had to catch my gasp Twelve years of double shifts and a kid of my own Lost a little, carried a lot, and I guess that's how you've grown Never once did it shrink, it was me who had to swell Every weight I had to lift, I was liftin' it as well [Hook: Biker-rock male lead, full band, twin guitars ringing] It's a hand-me-down, and it finally fits across the back Twelve years hangin' on a nail, now I'm wearin' the old man's black Zip the hand-me-down, pull it tight up to the chin You can't fill a coat like that, you gotta grow into him [Bridge: Biker-rock male lead, twin-lead ride, a second lead guitar pulls up beside the first] Then I turned it 'round to read the patches on the back Always figured it was club stuff, eagles, wings, and that But the first one says the Tigers, that's my Little League Then Roosevelt High, then the tire shop that gave me my first week Down the bottom, sewn in crooked, County General, room nine That's the night that I was born, old man, every patch is mine You were wearin' me the whole time, every mile on the open road Never said a single word, just stitched me on and rode [Final Hook: Biker-rock male lead, both lead guitars side by side, full roaring band] It's a hand-me-down, and it finally fits across the back Twelve years hangin' on a nail, now I'm wearin' the old man's black Zip the hand-me-down, pull it tight up to the chin You can't fill a coat like that, you gotta grow into him [Outro: Biker-rock male lead, guitars ringing out] Fired up his bike, took the long way past the shop Wearin' every year of me, and I ain't gonna stop [End]
