My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink And I Don't Love Jesus

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