Friday nights look different
depending which side of the counter you’re on.
Friday Queue follows the people who spend their weekends delivering everyone else’s. Between takeaway orders, late-night shifts and the hope that there’s still enough energy left for one drink afterwards, the song captures the routine shared by thousands of workers every Friday evening. Like much of Different Day, it finds humour and honesty in the ordinary lives that quietly keep everything else moving.
Yeah… another one.
Queue’s already long, innit.
Twenty-three, bike lights flickering again,
Phone at 12%, battery’s on its last leg.
Order number 47, cold chips in the rain,
Some posh flat in the new builds that all look the same.
Manager texts: “Can you do a double?”
I say yeah ’cause rent don’t pay itself, trouble.
Sweat through the hoodie, gloves got holes in the fingers,
Smell of vinegar and regret on my trainers.
Clock says ten, eyes say midnight,
Still two more drops before I even think about pints.
Friday queue, I’m back in the queue,
Bag on my back and the same shitty view.
We laugh about it, what else can we do?
Friday queue — see you in the queue.
Shift ends at three, legs proper dead,
Mate’s already at the offy getting cans instead.
Tenner in my pocket after fuel and the fine,
Still enough for entry if the bouncer don’t mind.
We stand in the smoking area talking absolute shit,
About bosses and exes and “one day we’ll quit”.
Nobody believes it, nobody cares,
We just neck the drinks and pretend we’re not scared.
I keep saying next month I’ll sort my life out proper,
But the rota drops and I’m back on the roster.
Friday queue, still in the queue,
Sweat and the bass and the same fucking tune.
We laugh about it, what else can we do?
Friday queue — stuck in the queue… again.
Yeah… another one.
See you next Friday.
