Lyrics:

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.