Only Bad Bitches

Mondays reserved for migos and tuesday is kickass tuesday every other day is just to gay to mention I'm not a joking Kickass tuesday it changed and the beer store in closed till the 19th My bad ******* is ******* Young thug changed that 1h ago migos monday famzMonday Yo, Monday, you think you're so tough, coming at me with your tired stuff. Alarm blaring, sun ain't even up, you're a rude awakening in my coffee cup. Dragging me back to the grind, you're a real menace to my peace of mind. You're a punchline nobody likes, a flat tire on my bicycle rides. You're the worst of the whole damn crew, I'm already over you. Tuesday Tuesday, you're just Monday's little friend, a pale imitation that will never transcend. You've got no real identity, you're just a weekday wannabe. A placeholder for something better, a boring, crumpled-up letter. You're the middle child of the week's first half, a total punchline, a cynical laugh. You ain't Friday and you never will be, just a stepping stone for the rest to see. Wednesday Wednesday, you act like you're the main event, but you're just a hump I'm ready to resent. You call yourself "Hump Day," so what? I'm already past you, no ifs, ands, or buts. You're a speed bump in the race, a slow-moving clog in the weekly pace. You think you're special, but you're just a tease, a fake promise on the daily breeze. Thursday's already knocking at the door, and I'm not thinking about you anymore. Thursday Thursday, you're the one that's got the nerve, thinking you're something I deserve. You're just Friday's hype man, a warm-up act, a flimsy, fragile, delicate fact. You're the "almost" day, the "so close," a cheap knockoff, everybody knows. You smell the weekend but can't take a bite, living in Friday's glorious light. You're all talk, no action, no real satisfaction. Friday Friday, you're the one that's got it wrong, thinking you're the end of my weekly song. The work's done, the emails are sent, but your whole vibe is just kinda bent. You're a crowded bar, a traffic jam, a bunch of plans that turn into a sham. You're an expectation I can't live up to, a whole lot of hype that's rarely true. I'm just tired and want to chill, you and your party just give me a pill. Saturday Saturday, you're the biggest fraud of all, a twenty-four hour free-for-all. You start so bright and full of glee, then turn into chores and errands for me. You're the yard work, the grocery store line, a to-do list that's a total sign. You're the day I'm supposed to unwind, but you're just chaos, a total bind. You're a disappointment, that's what you are, a broken promise on a rusted car. Sunday Sunday, you're the worst, the absolute end, a silent whisper, my least favorite friend. You're the anxiety of the week to come, the impending dread that leaves me numb. You're a quiet panic, a looming gray, a reminder of a brand new Monday. You're the ghost of the weekend, the fading light, the final sigh before the next fight. You're a sad movie with a predictable end, and on you, I will never depend.