Lyrics:

A'ight, here we go

Coming home with a bottle
Trying not to break the seal
This Friday evening traffic
About enough to break a man's will
And I can't wait to see you
To see how your week has gone
And tear into Old No. 7
And make love 'til dawn
But your mama she'll be calling
If she ain't knocking on the door
And it won't take me long to remember
What I brought that bottle home for
And we'll all get to fighting
Just like we always do
And by Saturday morning
I'll be singing these blues
Last night I slept with my boots on again
One cut on my forehead and one on my chin
On the hard old floor with nothin' to cover up with
You got me real good, girl, and I must admit
You pack a pretty mean punch for such a pretty little dish
And it's a shame to know most folks don't ever know love like this

Come Monday morning
I'll be sore to a fare-thee-well
Cussin' God and America
Begging them both just to send me off to hell
But the boss man don't want no excuses
When it comes time to get on the clock
And without that paycheck
I'd lose the rest of what sweet love I got
Last night I slept with my boots on again
One cut on my forehead and one on my chin
On the hard old floor with nothin' to cover up with
You got me real good, girl, and I must admit
You pack a pretty mean punch for such a pretty little dish
And it's a shame to know most folks don't ever know love like this
It's a shame to know most folks don't ever know love like this