Hold on, hold on

Hold on, hold on



Oh yeah, he's coming down the road

With his dad's guitar hanging over his shoulder

He takes that Woody Guthrie pose

And says, "I'll buy you cigarettes when you get older."

But that's not what we want anyway

We came out to hear him play

Our own curbside concert, Friday at the Circle K

Hey hey, hey hey, Friday at the Circle K



We gather every week

To hear our own rest stop poet, though he can't really sing on key

Who cares? There's music in the streets

And he plays his guitar as if she's a girl like me

And now he's looking my way

And I can't think of one thing to say

La da da da dee da, Friday at the Circle K

Hey hey, hey hey, Friday at the Circle K



And when he touches me, it thrills me down to the curb

But if he saw my fantasies, he'd know how I am disturbed!

They go like this:



I follow where he goes

To Greenwich Village and San Francisco

He shows me everything he knows

And he will be a singer and I will be a singer too

And he will play guitar every day

And I will play guitar every day

We'll say, "What a long way we've come from Friday at the Circle K!"

Hey hey, hey hey, Friday at the Circle K