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(J.C. Fogerty) 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. |