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| Sound The Horn © Copyright George Papavgeris, August 2001 About the interminable last hour before the factory shift ends. Seven hours from the start, and only one to go But when the shift is over my feet won't touch the floor. It's evening and as soon as I am through the factory gate I'm off to sink some pints together with my mates And if I'm sick tomorrow then "it's something that I ate" So gatesman go ahead and sound the horn. Lifting crates and barrels is not much of a career. If I could get an office job you wouldn't find me here. The foreman is all right, but I'd gladly see his back And I don't care if I don't see another forklift truck. But I can't wait for the Lottery to change my blooming luck, So gatesman go ahead and sound the horn. The job is not so hard, you don't even need a brain. You don't need any strength, it's your spirit that is drained. It's fifty-nine more minutes by Mickey Mouse's hand Until I hear the sound that I prefer to any band Like an angel with his trumpet calling to the Promised Land, Gatesman go ahead and sound the horn. I'll throw my gloves and hardhat straight into that bin And peel off my overalls like a lizard's skin. It's Friday and as soon as I am through the factory gate My girlfriend there will meet me; the weekend will be great! It's fifty five more minutes to work and dream and wait Then you won't see me for dust till Monday morn. CHORUS Sound that horn Three times and then I'm gone. Before you hear the final blast I will be sitting on the bus. One-two-three, That means that I am free; The shift is over and from now My time belongs to me. |
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