But I work to make a living
And I work without a break
And I work when I am sleeping
And I work when I'm awake
Yes, and I'd like to leave the city
But I can't afford the move
And I think I'm goin' under
With those way down low down
Smokey fact'ry blues.
I was born a lover not a worker.
Money doesn't smell like sweet perfume
Some of us feel out of place
With engine oil upon our face.
Believe me, you better believe me.
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