My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I Don`t Love Jesus — текст песни (Jimmy Buffett)

By: Jimmy Buffett
1975
Chorus:
My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don`t love Jesus (oh my lordy
it`s that...)
It`s that kind of mornin`
Really was that kind of night
Tryin` to tell myself that my condition is improvin`
And if I don`t die by Thursday I`ll be roarin` Friday night

Went down to the snake pit
To drink a little beer
Listen to the jukebox
Merle was comin` in clear

All of a sudden I wad`n alone
Pickin` country music with ol` Joe Bones
Duval Street was rockin`
My eyes they starting poppin`

Because there she sat at the corner of the bar
As I broke another string on my ol` guitar
Someone call a cab
Lady won`tcha pay my tab

Chorus:
And now my head hurts, my feet stink, and I don`t love Jesus
(oh my lordy it`s that...)
It`s that kinda mornin`
Really was that kinda night
Tryin` to tell myself that my condition is improvin`
And if I don`t die by Thursday I`ll be roarin` Friday night

Gotta get a little orange juice
And a Darvon for my head
I can`t spend all day
Baby layin` in the bed

I`m goin` down to Fausto`s get some chocolate milk
Can`t spend my life in yer sheets of silk
I`ve got to find my way
Crawl out and greet the day

Chorus:
But now my head hurts, my feet stink, and I don`t love Jesus
(oh my lordy it`s that...)
It`s that kinda mornin`
Really was that kinda night
Tryin` to tell myself that my condition is improvin`
And if I don`t die by Thursday I`ll be roarin` Friday night

Let me tell ya, I be roarin` Friday night
I mean I`ll be
Roarin`
Friday
Night