(Tom T. Hall)

At an old country store on the outskirts of town
He sat on the porch with his feet on the ground
With a stick of red cedar and a sharp Barlow's knife
He whittled and talked of a whittler's life.

He said when you whittle you don't make a thing
A whittle can't dance and a whittle can't sing
A whittle don't hurt and a whittle don't help
A whittle ain't nothin' but whittlin' itself.

One whittle's a whitt and two whitts a whittle
It's the same on both ends as it is in the middle
The same to the wood as it is to the knife
A whittle's a riddle it's a little like life.

Well, a whittle don't care about heaven or hell
Don't care how it looks and don't care how it smells
It's a thing you can't do if you think it's a thing
It's the end of a circle and the start of a ring.

Well he sits there and whittles and the shavins' pile up
Back to the earth and then back to the dust
He said what have I done if I've whittled all day
Time would have whittled itself anyway.

One whittle's a whitt and two whitts a whittle
It's the same on both ends as it is in the middle
The same to the wood as it is to the knife
A whittle's a riddle it's a little like life.

He said here watch me whittle and he whittled a whitt
He reared back and laughed and leaned over and spit
He said let me say one more thing fore you go
I don't even know what it is I don't know.

One whittle's a whitt and two whitts a whittle
It's the same on both ends as it is in the middle
The same to the wood as it is to the knife
A whittle's a riddle it's a little like life...