(Brian Woodbury)
Roll out of bed. Quarter past dead. Already runnin’ late.
Shower too cold. Coffee too old. Then you’re out on the interstate.
And now your lane’s backed up. And your brakes act up.
That car’s a joke but still you ain’t cracked up.
As if that’s not enough it starts to rain.
But why complain?
That’s just Monday.
You gotta punch the clock and clean the spill.
Check the disk and change the drill.
And fifty orders left to fill today.
There’s bills to file, and loads to haul,
a broken belt, a fork lift stall,
a leaky drum, and that ain’t all – no way.
That’s just Monday.
That’s just Monday.
Five forty one. Day’s half done. You’re outta there, dude.
Passin’ that truck ’fore you get stuck. Let ’im suck on your attitude.
With your neck cricked up and the road slicked up,
right about the time you’re supposed to have your kids picked up.
The world don’t give a damn how much you curse.
And it gets worse.
’Cause that’s just Monday.
(That’s just Monday.)
So, welcome home. Your nerves are shot.
Your body’s wrecked. And thanks a lot,
the power’s out ’cause you forgot to pay.
Now what’s the point and what’s the use?
You’re out of beer and out of juice.
And all you’ve got’s that lame excuse to say:
That’s just Monday.
That’s just Monday.
You need the day to be over.
Make the world disappear.
But you’ll never get out from under
until you see what’s right here.
Like the silence of the falling snow.
Chips and dip by candle glow.
That new song on the radio they play.
A tickle fight down on the rug.
Your “World’s Best Daddy” coffee mug.
That one more goodnight kiss and hug. You pray.
’Cause you know you’re gonna make it through okay.
And you wish a million more would come your way.
’Cause that’s just one day.
That’s just Monday.
That’s just one day.
That’s just Monday.