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THE GRINDSTONE

Each weekend that passes we pull out the stops
And come Sunday evening weíre one haggard lot
Now my bellyís a-rumbing and my money is spent
Time to heard for my job for to pay up my rent

Itís a thankless existence for the working class man
Just a moment of freedom, then youíre at it again

Monday is here, no reason for cheer
For itís back to the grindstone again

Well we paddled the river and danced on the sand
Played up a jig with me merry old band
Cooked on the fire, then drank til I dropped
Wishiní to god that this journey wouldnít stop

So free do I feel with my face in the wind
But it feels like itís over before it begins

Now Iím singing ĎHi ho, itís to work I must go
And itís back to the grindstone again, again
And itís back to the grindstone again

It seems that all good times must come to an end
Be it layiní with your sweetheart or drinkiní with friends
The wheels of the grindstone keep turning away
Time to head for my job for to earn up my pay

But I look to the days when adventure returns
With gold in my pocket and money to burn
And that bloody old grindstone wonít turn anymore
And Iím living a life that seems worth living for

But Ďtil then Iíll return to the pain and the burn
And itís back to the grindstone again
Monday is here, no reason for cheer
For itís back to the grindstone again


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