Creedence Lyrics: The Working Man
Well, I was born on a Sunday;
On Thursday I had me a job.
I was born on a Sunday; By
Thursday I was working out on the job.

I aingt never had no day off
Since I learned right from wrong.
Mama said I was bad, I did something to her head.
Mama said I was bad, I did something to her head.
And poppa threw me out, ooh, said,
"I gotta earn my own way."
 [bad word] 
I aingt never been in trouble;
I aingt got the time.
I don't mess around with magic, child.
What I got is mine.

Whatever you say, Lord, well, that's what I'm gonna do.
Whatever you say, well, that's what I'm gonna do.
'Cause I'm the Working Man,
Lord, and I do the job for you.
 [bad word] 
Every Friday, well, that's when I get paid.
Don't take me on Friday, Lord,
'cause that's when I get paid.
Let me die on Saturday night, ooh,
Before Sunday gets my head.