Intro:
Yah
Man I gotta go
What?
I mean fuck it I think I can do one more, one more
But really gotta get up early and shit
Verse 1:
Uhh, god damnit holiday on the Monday
And I don't got the shift that got me stuck here till the midday
When everybody already ready to get the chillin'
Talkin' in all my children to make sure my women getting it
Let's get it on, later on
We can eat at pop
Hit the homie Roy soon as we pull in that parking lot
I know I gotta get up supper early for my job
But the guys said don't trip Bam' theres four hours till tomorrow
It's the working for the weekend
If you ain't got a weekend
You should treat the hours in between work like the weekend
Pull the family whip out
Estevan pull the pala out
Switches make it go up
Buttons make it go down
Sanam Luang right there in holly-hood is open
But hit the ATM it's cash only
Only smoking from the back
Street food I don't temple temple jumping in
Before I go back home I gotta grab momma something cuz'
Hook:
Party till the sun up
I got work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Tell the homies don't be mad
And I got work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
And after, the after-hours
I got work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Good lord please forgive me
I got work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Work in the morning
Verse 2:
Working late to pay the rent
Might lead you to a early death
I guess this why they call this thing a grave yard shift
We, came to America to take that work
Immigrants that were willing to dig hands in dirt
Now the children are her
Out off east Willcher
Recording raps in the hotel coz one of the owners
Of the restaurant is built upon an immigrant earn
But I got work in a few, might have to shorten my verse
While the pop across the city making plans with his mans
Get to drinking later on, coz he got work you know what I'm sayin'
Oh whatever type of vice to get you good
Me I like to break it down and roll on top of book
This for all the dreamers
The ones who don't complain
The ones who struggled through it, wake up, and do it again
The ones who used to bang
And do all type of things
Grew up and got a family, different gang but the same
Repeat hook
Outro:
Feel sick and tired of working like dogs
To make some blood sucker fat
When we take over with guns in our hands
They'll know they can't treat us like that
Power to the workers, power to the working class (2x)
Food price is rising the works all down
Workers got together shot the city down
They marched on the fake red bosses hang out
And as they march the workers hang out
Power to the workers, power to the working class (2x)
