Yeah it's a eight hour day
Forty hour week
And it's a Friday night
At the liquor store

Yeah, the water hole at the shithole
The whole neighbourhood lined up like prey in the Sahara
Dismount front truck cab and stampede
The pool of Steinlager like a school of piranha
Box under arm but still under the armour
Young cub under the table watching his father
Red lions, grey geese, purple iguanas
All running like mascara the day after
Still tryna chase a dragon they'll never catch
Bitch of an itch of which he'll nеver scratch
With a scratchie, blow a whole bag on a baggy
Bottlе up a problem in a bottle of happy
In a high-vis tux at the broke folks ball
Steel-cap tap-dance on bourbon-soaked floor
Piss poor looking for more piss to pour

Friday night at the liquor store

Fuck you looking at?
White walkers, Johnnie Walkers, could have been Stan Walkers
Olympic level shit talkers
The best of West Auckland's worst combined forces
Of workhorses horsed on state house porches
Gather like mourners to farewell the fallen
Dreams of old washed up fiends and broke ballers
Forty-four year old George warehouse Foreman
Knocked out front lawn Sunday morning
Synchronized drowning, Friday night out like it's Thursday night
[?] in overpriced housing
Staring at the eftpos machine like I'm waiting for the lotto numbers
Or the cancer results
Ding ding ding you just won a jackshit jackpot
Chip a cap off the tooth biting the cap off
What you really know about conditioning, Pavlov?
The fuck you looking at, you got an eye full of
And what?
[Unintelligible confrontation]

Yeah, it's a twelve hour day
Sixty hour week
And it's a Friday night
At the liquor store

Yeah, Friday night at the liquor store
Automatic door like a wormhole to a holding cell
Low enough to dig a hole to hell
Bottom of the well I know it well
If I had a soul to sell I would've pawned it
Too bad the man's back in rehab
He might've been clean if he could afford it
You can lead a horse to water but he'll still horse it
What's the real reason it caused, they can't call it
Out of credit, Friday night, you know where I'm headed
Walking twelve block through the desert
Just to get it on a benny like Paula Bennett
Lord and peasant, landlord and tenant, same scam
Fell in love with the same man that killed our parents
The same spirits that broke Gil Scott-Heron's
And I just got paid, you can't tell me that I ain't rich

Ay ay, get out of my way
What you say bitch?
Friday night at the liquor store
Swarms of locusts, packs of smokes and boats of bogans
The voodoo man selling the hope to the hopeless
The most broke, half rich, almost homeless
Rush like roaches in the light before it closes
And some of us will be right back before he opens
Line around the corner in the middle of covid
And we're still out here vortekking Coronas
Hang around like vultures over the carcass
Scavengers in Michael Savage's garden
Packs of rats and drunk fatherless bastards
With one life to live and two car garages
Play your last card with a hand of last chances
Trauma like a hospital, pass parcel the casket
Everlasting paradise that never lasted
Whole life chasing the past, never got past it
It's Friday night
At the liquor store

Ay got a dollar bro?