Last Post of the Day – Jimmy Buffett – My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love Jesus

I must admit that I’ve been saving this post for a time like this

From experience, there’s times when some things just seem appropriate.  Yeah, this is one of those times.

The first time I ever heard this song, it was a Monday, I was working at Captain’s Cove, and I was at home with a horrendous case of strep throat.  I’ve had strep on a number of occasions (I don’t know why, but I’m more susceptible to that than most), but that was a serious doozy.  Thankfully, the doctor I was seeing down in San Diego saw me on short notice, charged me $50 for the visit, took one look at my raging fever and spotty throat, dispensed with the test, and gave me a prescription for antibiotics.  I had no health insurance (hence the $50 visit), but the prescription only cost me $15.

Anyway, getting back to the story, I had to laugh.  It didn’t matter that I couldn’t swallow without intense pain or that I was nearly delusional from the dehydration, it was just too funny under the circumstances.  And somehow, I’m right back in that position again

From Margaritaville.com:

My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love Jesus

Havana Daydreamin’

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.

I’ll admit that there’s been a couple of times when I’ve been in that state due to the consumption of alcohol in unadvised quantities, but those are few and far between – it’s really usually that I’m sick

If you want to hear what this song sounds like (and it’s pretty funny), check out the sample over on amazon.com

And yes, I’ll be roarin’ Friday night