My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus. It's that kind of morning.

I got my hush puppies on. I guess I never was made meant for glitter rock and roll.

Maybe roll in the sand with a rock and roll man.

This morning I shot six holes in my freezer. I think I've got cabin fever.

Pack your bags, we're going on a guilt trip!

Give me oysters and beer, for dinner every day of the year, and I'll be fine.

I don't get tired of playing "Margaritaville". It's paid my bills for years.