Early in the misty, misty morning

Headin' for another freeway jam

Sleepy eyed and shivering

Waking up and wishing it was Sunday

I wish it was Sunday.

On the radio they're playin' love songs.

Songs that make me want to turn around

Fact'ry gates are up ahead

I wish that I was home in bed with you, my love,

Back home with you, my love.



But I work to make a living

And I work without a break

And I work when I am sleeping

And I work when I'm awake

Yes, and I'd like to leave the city

But I can't afford the move

And I think I'm goin' under

With those way down low down

Smokey fact'ry blues.



I was born a lover not a worker.

Money doesn't smell like sweet perfume

Some of us feel out of place

With engine oil upon our face.

Believe me, you better believe me.