Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah Oh oh oh oh oh Mama, can I get another amen? I pray for the wicked on the weekend Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent If I had one more day to wish If I had one more day Been traveling in packs that I can't carry anymore

Or nah, or nah Can you really take dick or nah? Can I bring another bitch or nah? Is you with the shits or nah? Would you ride for a nigga or nah? Would you die for a nigga or nah? You gonna run it for these hunnids girl or nah? Show me is you really

Na-na, na-na-na, na Friday can't come fast enough Here's to another week gone Raise 'em up and sing along Let the good times roll when the guitars play Alarm clock, ding-dong, pants up, boots on Coffee, cigarette, blue-collar breakfast Hard hat, fork

I drink to that, yeah yeah Don't let the bastards get ya down Turn it around with another round There's a party at the bar Cheers to the freakin' weekend Yeah yeah yeah Oh let the Jameson sink in Everybody putcha glasses up and I drink to that (yeah yeah

And maybe I'll get lucky tonight Find me a girl, take my heartache away Sad, sad blues I'll see you another day, wouldn't that be so fine? Maybe I'll get lucky tonight She left about three weeks ago A single man is a new thing But I've been here before

Don't make me make you fall in love with a nigga like me Don't make me make you fall in love Nobody needs to fall in love So don't you fall in love 'Cause girl I'm just a bird Girl I'm just another bird I know you're rolling hard with it, don't lie I

I'm a cold one down at the end of the day A little sundown buzz and more on the way I wash a week's worth of dust off my old truck While Bobby Earl runs home to get dressed up Here comes Clifford, gotta forty in a brown bag In his pointed toe boots and a

It's all easy Until we fall Rack 'em up Put 'em down I like to party You like to party We like to party Another Sunset What a way to start another messy night

This is the last cowboy song The end of a hundred year Waltz The voices sound sad as they're singin' along Another piece of America's lost He rides the feed lots, clerks in the markets On weekends sellin' tobacco and beer And his dreams of tomorrow,

I'm so glad I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad Don't know what to do Don't know what I'm gonna do Another week in Telephoning Tired of groaning for you