Youth Killed It
No Money, No Monday
And just a simple self employed man
Brains not good, so I use my hands
Up at the break of dawn
I beat the local rooster to an early yawn
A cup of tea to smooth the rough
No sugar as I’m sweet enough
It’s alright, it pays a decent amounts
But that’s what I thought until I checked my account

And I don’t work for free
I don’t do things for a little bit of XP
We ain’t shaking hands with each other
We ain’t shouting: “Nice one, brother!”

You think I'm joking but I’m not being funny
I won’t be turning up if you ain’t got my money
No money, no Monday
No money, no Monday

I didn’t sign as a debt collector
Through your books like an account inspector
I don’t mean to break your neck I
Just want what I’m owed and expect
I see you taking all the payments through
I just want your end of the bargain to hold true

I put my invoice into your inbox
So I want my money no more, no less
Put the transfer into your outbox
Make it rain in my account instead