(Is night shift okay with you? Yes. Hey, well you got yourself a job, homey.)
Graveyard shift ain't never dead. We got to work when people go to bed.
We got a tremendous work overload. The boss don't care about the dress code.
So if your hair's messed up, come on in. Nobody don't care 3 o'clock in the morning.
I'm fantasizin' about a six four, broke as hell moppin' the floor.
I don't know but I gots the hunch that it's almost time for lunch.
Smokin' cigarettes in the parking lot, all the homies tellin' lies about the women they got.
Nobody gets offended at a racial joke. Everybody's laughin' tryin' to stay woke.
We takin' it easy, though times are hard, pullin' practical jokes on the security guard.
And if you come late, the boss won't boot ya, standin' ‘round talkin' ‘bout the future.
Don't even trip if you feel tired. Take a little nap, you won't get fired.
Drink a little beer, smoke you a spliff, nobody cares on the graveyard shift.
Buc-wuci-wuci-wooci-woo. Buc-buc-buc-buci-buccooocc!
Paaaaaaaaarty! On the graveyard shift. (Yeah!)
Paaaaaaaaarty! On the graveyard shift. (Yeah!)
You don't have to slave too hard, on the Graveyard.
My name is Joseph Foreman, they call me ‘Fro. I work at the neighborhood grocery store.
We actin' crazy like a bunch of kids, playin' frisbee with the trash can lids
When the bossman comes, baby, we don't run. He's a fool like us just tryin' to have fun.
Graveyard shift is a little bit prouder, play the radio just a little bit louder.
DJ playin' that midnight mix. Dance contest on isle number 6.
Bumpin' that old school 2-short rhyme. Got the homeboys in a Soul Train line.
You wanna act crazy, go ahead and be wild. If you wanna rap, gwords and music by Arlo Guthrie
It ain't so much the boredom
But the fire in her soul
That made her life unbearable
While living in that hole
Of her dark surburban nightmare
'Till she went to see the Dead
And the self esteem she valued
Was immediately spent
And she had no one to turn to
So she just turned off her mind
She's a well adjusted wanderer
But all this stuff takes time
On the streets of old Wyoming
There's a couple from L.A.
They are post-environmentalists
Looking for to stay
'Till their friends all come to join them
In the quest for air to breathe
And when it gets too crowded
They will just pick up and leave
Like they did in New York City
When the coast seemed quite sublime
It don't take much but money
And money just takes time
Marie is on the lounge chair
Draped around the pool
Avoiding almost anyone who'd
Desecrate he cool
It's the reason she's attractive
She's already self abused
And her pride won't feel the loneliness
That comes with being used
She's the center of the universe
For which she was designed
Until she wakes up wandering
Why all this stuff takes time
Bill died of a heart attack
Beating up his wife
Now he's come back as a lesbian
That's looking for his wife
Who is now a psychoanalyst
That likes to work with plants
Except of course on weekends
When she likes to wear the pants
She's a leather goddess minister
Who works with the confined
It don't take much to realize
That all this stuff takes time