On a Monday, I get up at 6
That's a.m. for you drunks
In bed before 9:30
That's p.m. for you punks
And all of us drink Trappist ale
But wish the life of monks
And a good day these days
Is hard to find
We're the crow on airport runway
Our fate already decided
As the marksman in the watchtower
Complains it's too one-sided
When Tuesday comes, us hopeless bums
Feel already derided
And a good day these day
Is hard to find
A good day these days
Full of 'alright's and 'okay's
Full of backhanded compliments
And the faintest of praise