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 working 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

I aingt never been in trouble
I aingt 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

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