Thank Heavens, It's Friday

THANK HEAVENS, IT'S FRIDAY No matter; how much you felt about Thursday, Friday, is another day For the most of us, at the end of the month, it's when we get our pay Strange to be, the work's elevator up smells, an awful lot more sweet No more; are the crumpled clothes, everybody is looking dapper neat Better still today; we'll get to finish work early at three instead of five It does something to flagging souls, as we all become somewhat alive There's an excitement in the air; everyone finishes their piles of work As a cry and laughter from the first one out; the last one out is a jerk Mad dash for the elevator; hand mirrors out, lipstick getting smudged From too many worker's piling into the lift and elbows getting nudged Some are dashing home to loved ones; other's are off to the local pub After a whole darn month of working, who are we on others to grudge Landlords know on this payday Friday; they are about to make a steal And; even better, if the workers are stopping, for a freshly made meal John now Ada has decided once and for all; declares she's coming out To all the whoops of encouragement, and a good on you is their shout The single lads then moving in on the single lasses, with a dying hope But; the lasses have their sights set much higher as reply with a nope The work bikers in the corner enthusiastically plan their weekend trips For them all should go well; just as long as there are no weather blips Those left who have the energy; it is off, for a round at the night clubs As, trying to dance their one steps, to some funky groovy reggae dubs Come the end of the evening; most of the workers, are worse for wear Lads jackets off, shirts undone, lasses tights ripped; but, nobody cares It hard to believe that a whole month's pay, now half spent in the bars This daft load of Friday office workers, with their heads up, in the stars Indiana Shaw . . . : /