Well a dollar I make
Is a buck I owe
And a forty-hour week
Leaves ten to blow
But every game in this town
Is just a nickel-and-dime
And when the sun goes down
It feels like the last time

So down the main drag we ride with the engines open
If there's a fire inside, it's the one thing going

I've got the Mustang loaded
I've got a wrong to right
I've got a little red bullet
Let's kill Saturday night.
Knock it out of its misery
Nail that coffin tight
High living that's history
Let's kill Saturday night.

Well the little man's lot
Is a prince's life
A prince with a lousy job
A prince with a working wife
Something in the big frame's moved
Oh, it never was so hard
To keep a twenty inch tube
And a fenced-in yard

But give me one night with the moon high and the radio pounding
And, brother, this town's gonna go down kicking and shouting.

I've got the Mustang loaded
I've got a wrong to right
I've got a little red bullet
Let's kill Saturday night.
Knock it out of its misery
Nail that coffin tight
High living that's history
Let's kill Saturday night.

Copyright: RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC
Writer(s): ROBERT WILLIAMS FULKS