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

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? 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 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