Song Lyrics

You drive your car in, pull it up on the rack
You promise me faithlessly that you'll be back
I wait in the pit, it's the fate I have earned
For believing some day you'll return
To the streets of New York from my tower of song
I come down to work where the common folk throng
In my famous blue shirt with its patch that says Len
Then I go back to write songs again

Leonard Cohen is working a day job they say
For bizarre inspiration and hourly pay
And I swear by the grease in the crease of my hand
If you need speedy lubin', I'll prove
I'm your man
I'll beg if I must, 'cause I'm aching to hear
Your story, as I check your brakes front and rear
Can you play a sad waltz on your cheap violin
Did you have a good time in Berlin

If Saint Joan should pull in, in her Charger of white
And ask if it all could be finished tonight
I'd say, "Let me take a look under your hood
All that smoke doesn't look very good"
I'm on fire

Leonard Cohen is working a day job they say
It's part of the price every artist must pay
And I swear by the crud and the blood on my hands
If you need a tune this afternoon
I'm your man

And I swear by the monkey wrench clenched in my hand
If you lack something basic in black
I'm your man

Hank Card, Kristen Nelson Card

The duration of Leonard Cohen's Day Job is 4:42 minutes and seconds.