Written by Francis Joseph Burke, Paul Francis Webster
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I'm feelin' mighty lonesome, haven't slept a wink;
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I walk the floor from nine to four, in between I drink
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Black coffee -- love's a hand-me-down brew.
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I'll never know a Sunday in this weekday room.
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I'm talkin to the shadow one o'clock till four,
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And Lord, how slow the moments go and all I do is pour
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Black coffee since the blues caught my eye;
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I'm hangin' out on Monday my Sunday dreams to dry.
(Bridge:)
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Now man is born to come a-lovin',
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And a woman's born to weep and fret
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To stay at home and tend her oven
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And down her past regrets in coffee and cigarettes.
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I'm moonin' all the mornin', moanin' all the night
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And in between it's nicotine and not much heart to fight.
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Black coffee -- feelin' low as the ground.
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It's drivin' me cra - zy, this waitin' for my baby
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'Til he come a - round, 'til he come around.
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