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.