What you gonna do with your money come Sunday 

hat you can’t get done here on riday night 

ause saving money’s or bankers and amily men  

And Tuesday the banker ran off with my wife 

I tried to drink her off my worried mind 

By drinking me a whiskey drink or two 

But nothing seemed to do the trick till I met this nasty old hick 

He said “son I got just the thing or you” 


God damn you bootlegger where you goin with my pay 

All I can do is stagger while hard earned money walks away 

God damn you bootlegger I swear it’s all your ault 

For a man like me shine that clean was bound to clear me out 

“ou should know better” my mama always told me 

Everybody pays for the way they play 

But it numbed my brain like it numbed my lips 

And my good sense left with every sip 

ow I’m on the loor with debts to pay