The Working Man

Well, i was born on a sunday; on thursday i had me a job.

I was born on a sunday; by thursday i was workin' out on the job.

I ain't never had no day off since i learned right from wrong.



Mama said i was bad, i did something to her head.

Mama said i was bad, i did something to her head.

And poppa threw me out, ooh, said, "i gotta earn my own way."



Chorus:

I ain't never been in trouble;

I ain't got the time.

I don't mess around with magic, child.

What i got is mine.



Whatever you say, lord, well, that's what i'm gonna do.

Whatever you say, well, that's what i'm gonna do.

'cause i'm the working man, lord, and i do the job for you.



Chorus



Every friday, well, that's when i get paid.

Don't take me on friday, lord, 'cause that's when i get paid.

Let me die on saturday night, ooh, before sunday gets my head.


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