Lyrics

My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus
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
Listened to the juke box
Merle was comin’ in clear
All of a sudden I wasn’t alone
Pickin’ country music with old Joe Bones
Duval Street was rockin’
My eyes they started poppin’
Because there she sat at the corner of the bar
As I broke another string on my old guitar
Someone call a cab
Lady won’t you pay my tab

My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus
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

Got to 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
to get some chocolate milk
Can’t spend my life in your sheets of silk
I’ve got to find my way
Crawl out and greet the day

My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus
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