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

See also:
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