the day of days for me,

the day that sets me free,

the day I’d like to be, like the alignment of the stars,

find me in pubs and bars,

doing back flips on top of cars

that’s how much I cherish it. The Sunday beret doesn’t fit.

I like Saturdays a little bit,

when Thursday is over

I’ve found my four leaf clover,

peace to Satan, praise for Yehovah

but when Thursday comes back

I’m on my grind,

there’s no other day

that fun could find,

at the peak of my week

I make my speech,

suck on Thursdays

like a leach,

measuring the time it takes

to get back to Thursday,

it goes by so quick

I measure again.

I love Thursdays

and I cannot pretend,

thinking of Thursday

till Wednesday ends.

Friday is my foe.

Thursday is my friend.

All other days

send me round the bend.

Thursday, I love you,

you’re one in a seven,

fifty-two in a three-six-five.

You’re the one

who makes feel alive.

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