waitin til my dyin day that s when i pack these tired blues away that s when i go to lay down in my grave that ll be my flyin day wondering what i m workin for ain t gonna be your lowdown dog no more ain t gonna bleach an scrub your kitchen floor i wonder what i m workin for making tiny feet for shoes didn t have the right to pick n choose didn t know the freedom i would lose in making tiny feet for shoes working dozen to the nine feels like i m just servin time waitin in this goddamn line hell or heaven i ll be fine cookin nothing in the pan that s the way life dealt my hand that ll be my livin last demand to get something from this land playin around the toes of time waiting for the spark that ll free my mind that ll put unhappiness behind just looking for an exit sign