waitin´ ´til my dyin´ day
that´s when i pack these tired blues away
that´s when i go to lay down in my grave
that´ll be my dyin´ day

wonderin´ what i´m workin´ for
ain´t gonna be your lowdown dog no more
ain´t gonna bleach an´ scrub your kitchen floor
i wonder what i´m workin´ for

making tiny feet for shoes
didn´t have the right to pick ´n choose
didn´t know the freedom i would lose
in making tiny feet for shoes

workin´ dozen to the nine
feels like i´m just servin´ time
waitin´ in this goddamn line
hell or heaven i´ll be fine

cookin´ nothin´ in the pan
that´s the way life dealt my hand
that´ll be my livin´ last demand
to get somethin´ from this land

playin´ ´round the toes of time
waitin´ for the spark that´ll free my mind
that´ll put unhappiness behind
jus´ lookin´ for an exit sign