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.
My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus.
RépondreSupprimerIt'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.