Friday Evening Blues

Friday Evening Blues

by Jim Turner

I’m a Monday sort of person,
And I know that’s kind of strange.
Anyone caught liking Monday
Is considered quite deranged.
Even Tuesday’s special challenge
I can handle from the start,
But from then on to the weekend
I fall rapidly apart

So by Friday all the burdens
Of the week have come to rest,
Sitting weightly upon me
Till I’m sure I’ve flunked the test.
Then my shoulders feel so heavy
That they’re scraping at my shoes,
And I know that I’m a victim
of those Friday evening blues

Now Saturday’s a fun day
When at night I play and shout,
And Sunday is my one day
Just to let it all hang out.
But then the weekend’s over
and it’s back into the grind.
Yet Monday, as I mentioned,
Is my day for feeling fine.

Not so, of course, by Friday
When all hell has broken loose,
And every sort of trouble
Chokes me like a hangman’s noose.
Then my shoulders feel so heavy
That they’re scraping at my shoes,
And Once more I am a victim
Of those Friday evening blues.