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.