written by Warren Zevon 1989 Zevon Music Inc./BMI. It's 5:00 P.M. on a weekday friend. There's one of me and two million of them. The whistle blows and the factories close. There's a million more commuters on the access roads. The brake lights flash--there's an RV crashed. I'm in the passing lane going nowhere fast. The traffic crawls and the engine stalls. I'm stuck on the edge of the urban sprawl. Gridlock. Up ahead. There's a line of cars as far as I can see. Gridlock. Goin' nowhere. Roll down the window let me scream. Oh yeah ain't it a shame. We're all jammed up at the interchange. The paramedics and the CHP. Wait impatiently for catastrophes. I'm spending half my days like this. I might as well be working on the midnight shift. The radio's tuned to the traffic news. And everybody's choking on monoxide fumes. Gridlock. Up ahead. There's a line of cars as far as I can see. Gridlock. Goin' nowhere. Roll down the window let me scream. I can close my eyes and dream. I can close my eyes and dream. I can close my eyes and dream. It's 5:00PM on a weekday friend. I'm going home but I don't know when. I hate this traffic and I hate this town. Gotta honk my horn try to get around. I feel like going on a killing spree. Tomorrow I'm going on the RTD. The traffic crawls and the engine stalls. I'm stuck on the edge of the urban sprawl. Gridlock. Up ahead. There's a line of cars as far as I can see. Gridlock. Goin' nowhere. Roll down the window let me scream. I can close my eyes and dream.