Luyện nghe bài hát My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, & I Don't Love Jesus

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By: buffett

My head hurts, my stink, and I don't love jesus (oh my lordy it's that...)
It's that kind of
was that kind of night
Tryin' to tell myself that my is improvin'
And if I don't die by I'll be roarin' friday night

Went down to the pit
To a little beer
Listen to the
was comin' in clear

All of a sudden I alone
country music with ol' joe bones
Duval street was
My eyes they poppin'

Because she sat at the corner of the bar
As I broke string on my ol' guitar
call a cab
Lady pay my tab

And now my hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love jesus
(oh my it's that...)
It's that kinda
Really was that kinda
to tell myself that my condition is improvin'
And if I don't die by thursday be roarin' friday night

Gotta get a orange juice
And a for my head
I can't all day
layin' in the bed

I'm goin' down to fausto's get chocolate milk
Can't spend my in yer sheets of silk
I've got to my way
Crawl out and the day

But now my hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love jesus
(oh my it's that...)
It's that kinda
was that kinda night
Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is
And if I don't die by thursday I'll be roarin' friday

Let me ya, I be roarin' friday night
I mean be