Everyday I work my azz off fully,
time is the great big bully.
I just can't wait until three ten,
the work days almost over,
but tomorrow I'll have to do it again.
It's funny how time creeps,
it seems as though it's playing for keeps.

Part of my style,
is a laugh or at least a smile.
But most of time it's phony,
so slice me up like baloney.
On the way out the door we be joking,
during a lot of fun poking.
I won't decieve,
it feels great to leave.

3:10 to humor,
or the end of a work day of trauma.
Either way the work days over,
I know it for sure after entering my car for cover.
So much for the fading glory,
with time being the star of the story.
No use looking for an apology,
time will never say it's sorry.
The clock just keeps on ticking,
each and everyday I'll go on working.

O