They made you clean and shiny
They stuffed your pockets full of cash
They gave you ninety-nine servants
To carry out your trash
But your soul is showing
I can see right through
Hands off of things
That don't belong to you

Are you feelin' like a foxhound?
Do you like the chase?
Are you aching for a pretty palm
To leave a mark on your face?
But the women don't like you
No matter what you do
Hands off of things
That don't belong to you

Well, the devil's on the riser
He got the microphone
He's an old scandalizer
He smells the meat on the bone
Do you ever miss the days when
You were young and true?
Hands off of things
That don't belong to you

Well, the guns are firing
And the children fall
And the world is crying
For the waste of it all
Your crimes are bloody
And you know it's true
Hands off of things
That don't belong to you

Hands off of the fathers
Hands off of the mothers
Hands off of the sisters
Hands off of the brothers
Hands off of the oceans
Hands off of the sky
Hands off of the children
Give 'em wings to fly

Well, the ice is melting
And the woods are ablaze
And the rain's been raining
For ninety-nine days
Get out of the roadway
We got work to do
Hands off of things
That don't belong to you

Our time is wastin'
Your time's about through
Hands off of things
That don't belong to you

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Joan Osborne