It was once before a time called now When we lazed the weeks away With a work of art and a pint of beer Was all there was to say For we made love in the afternoons On the mattresses of youth And I took all the rope that they gave And that became my noose Now I must wait for the weekend I must wait to have you When the streets were paved with poems And a salary of song When we never thought we'd have to work Or anything could go wrong Because there'd always be the Old King Cole The sovereign of our loving But the King was cut as was our luck And now the week is working Now the moral of this story is Without them you have fun Oh I thought the wine and roses years Had only just begun But in their world life's to short for love Money gives them pleasure And without God they have marshalled time Into but work or leisure Now I must wait for the weekend I must wait to have you