Monday morning, make it stop,
Time has caught me on the hop,
Morning paper, breakfast roll,
Wish that I was on the dole.
Where’s the weekend, where’s it gone?
Butter me another scone,
Call the office, say I’m dead,
Say I have a fragile head.
Call my children, say it’s cool,
Let them get themselves to school,
Call up Visa, call the bank,
Call them money-grubbing Yanks.
Get my slippers, run my bath,
I’m not running down my path,
I’ll sit here in my living room,
Completely virgin to a broom.
God Almighty! What a dive,
I’m off to catch the eight-oh-five.