Black Friday

We get up early, we come home tired

Our lives for hire, we're making money for someone else

Can't breathe like there's hands around my throat

Can't scream this place is filled with ghosts

Everybody's looking for something

Can't leave or we're left with nothing

Clap your hands do the dead man shuffle

Slouch our way into an early grave

Is it disappointment or mild annoyance?

A sense of contentment or fucking resentment?

Move your feet to this dead end beat

Slouch our way into an early grave

Get out of bed, get fucking dressed

And think of better ways to keep busy

Clap your hands do the dead man shuffle

Killing ourselves for a living wage

Get out of bed

Get fucking dressed

And get busy