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,
oh, it's 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?