Daily chores turn into boors, and work becomes routine,
You sweat your life from out your pores...mixed with nicotine.
You watch TV, you drink your tea, stretched out in your chair
And then get up to fill your cup or wonder what to wear?
Monday morning comes too soon, we're just a slave to time
So off to work with lunch at noon then home to wash the grime.
What's it get you... old and gray? Tired, sick and worn?
With money troubles every day from the very time you're born?
Of course, we have no other choice besides the one we take
So let's quit our protesting now and pick up on the rake.
There is no other road to walk nor destiny to carve
You either set your tempo to a dull routine... or starve!