MONDAY

MONDAY

Monday morning again and I'm feeling rough,
Six hours sleep just isn't enough,

The weekends are the two fastest days of the week,
And I usually spend them so drunk I can't speak,

Travel on the bus down familiar streets,
Trying to make out the personal stereo beats,

The bell signals the start of the working day,
The signal to leave seems so far away,

The boss walks through like he owns the place,
It's a shame he does or I'd smack him in the face,

A monotonous grind that's only worth it on payday,
Wishing my life away, longing for holidays,

Maybe this week my numbers will come up,
But there's more chance of Scotland winning the world cup,

The horn goes again and at last I can leave,
Heading for home for a short lived reprieve,

Home at last and it's time to be fed,
A couple of hours and its time for bed,

Then the following morning I'm up early again,
And it all starts over, the usual refrain.