If the work week never ended
and the weekend never came
I would wear a smile every day
and never once complain.
Working keeps me busy
and my mind occupied.
When I get home I fall asleep
could not worry if I tried.
:Chorus:
But on Saturday I’m drinking
Sunday begging Jesus please.
In the bar or at the altar
either way I’m on my knees.
Whiskey to forget him
wine to bring him home.
Saturday and Sunday
are the same when you’re alone.
My friend’s all think I’m crazy
to miss him like I do --
they say he was a fool to leave
and I know it must be true.
Won’t say how many times I’ve cried
I swear I must be cursed.
Though my heart aches every day
weekends are the worst.