(please see -Disclaimer- statement at end of document --)
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| | G |
| There's a | woman goin' crazy on Caroline Street |
| | D |
| | Stoppin' every man that she does meet |
| | C |
| Sayin' | if you'll be gentle if you'll be sweet |
| | Am | G |
| I'll show you my place on Caro | line | Street |
| | G | D | C |
| She | claimed in a loud | voice to be a | dancer |
| | G | D | C |
| But | I don't think she's | cut a rug in | years |
| | G | D | C |
| | Listens to the | jukebox for her | answers |
| | G | D | C |
| S | lowly guzzles | twenty-five cent | beers |
| Talks about the men she's known and then some |
| She's seen them in her dreams and on the street |
| She slides her dapper legs from beneath the table |
| As if to reveal some kind of treat |
| Her lover left her stranded in Jamaica |
| Just right now she can't recall his name |
| Perceiving she's the center of attention |
| And all the lurking eyes they look the same |
| Weather's got the shrimpers in a frenzy |
| They're horny and don't need a good excuse |
| Someone yells and things just start erupting |
| And in a flash all hell has broken loose |
| When I woke up and looked around the barroom |
| She was gone and I was black and blue |
| So be careful when you go to swing your partner |
| Someone just might take a swing at you |
| (Repeat chorus twice and fade) |
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| @SONG: My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I Don't Love Jesus |
| My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I Don't Love Jesus |
| Intro: Em A7 D G Em A7 D G |
| | G | A7 | C | G |
| My | head hurts, my feet | stink, and I | don't love | Jesus |
| | A7 |
| It's that kind of | mornin' |
| | C | D |
| Really | was that kind of n | ight |
| | C | G | B7 | Em |
| | Tryin' to tell myself that my con | dition | is im | provin' |
| | A7 | C | D | G |
| And if | I don't die by Thursday I'll be | roarin' | Friday | night |
| | D |
| Went down to the | snake pit |
| | G |
| Merle was comin' in | clear |
| | Em |
| | All of a sudden I wasn't alone |
| | A7 |
| | Pickin' country music with ol' Joe Bones |
| | D |
| | Duval Street was rockin' |
| My eyes they starting poppin' |
| | Em |
| Because | there she sat at the corner of the bar |
| | A7 |
| As I | broke another string on my ol' guitar |
| | D7 |
| | Lady won'tcha pay my tab |
| And now my head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus |
| Really was that kinda night |
| Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is improvin' |
| And if I don't die by Thursday I'll be roarin' Friday night |
| Gotta get a little orange juice |
| I'm goin' down to Fausto's get some chocolate milk |
| Can't spend my life in yer sheets of silk |
| Crawl out and greet the day |
| But now my head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus |
| Really was that kinda night |
| Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is improvin' |
| And if I don't die by Thursday I'll be roarin' Friday night |
| | C | D | G |
| Let me tell ya, I be | roarin' | Friday | night |
| | C | D | G |
| I mean I'll be | roarin' | Friday | night |
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| @SONG: The Captain and The Kid |
| @CHORDS: Mike A. Hall (mhall@moe.coe.uga.edu) |
| | D | G |
| | I never used to | miss the chance |
| | D | G |
| | To climb upon his | knee |
| | D | G |
| | And listen to the | many tales |
| | F#m | G |
| | We'd go sailing back on | barkentines |
| | F#m | G |
| | And talk of things he | did |
| | F#m | G |
| | Tomorrow's just a | day away |
| | E7 | A | D |
| For the | captain | and the | kid |
| His world had gone from sailing ships |
| To raking mom's back yard |
| He never could adjust to land |
| Although he tried so hard |
| We both were growing older then |
| That's when I came to understand |
| The course his heart still steers |
| He died about a month ago |
| While winter filled the air |
| And though I cried I was so proud |
| He's somewhere on the ocean now |
| With one hand on the starboard rail |
| | E7 | A | D |
| For the | captain | and this | kid |
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| Chord diagrams: F#m - |244222| E7 - |o2o1oo| |
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| @CHORDS: Mike A. Hall (mhall@moe.coe.uga.edu) |
| | E |
| If | I was a road dog baby |
| And all a' my songs were true |
| Reckon I'd like my whiskey drinkin' |
| A whole lot more than I do |
| | A |
| | But I don't know about the good life baby |
| | E |
| I'd | much rather be home rollin' with you |
| Than watchin' Tom Snyder on TV |
| | E | A |
| | I wish I was a | big rig |
| | A | E |
| | Rollin' on home to | you |
| Now I been to lots a' parties |
| Spent my whole life in a bar |
| There's a whole lotta good lookin' women out there |
| I'd be rollin' home to Alabam' |
| Spoken: "Ah, go Fingers, yeah!" |
| Now some day I'll be better |
| My ramblin' days'll be through |
| I won't have any more gigs to play |
| I'll be back home there with you |
| But meanwhile, wait a minute |
| It's a good lookin' blonde with a bottle of scotch |
| And she wants to go home with me |
| She's lookin' like a big rig |
| Yeah I wish I was a big rig |
| "Yeah I'll be home in a few days baby" |
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| @CHORDS: Sean Costello (costells@guvax.georgetown.edu) |
| | E | B7 |
| I | live on a big, round | ball |
| | E |
| I never do dream I may | fall |
| | B7 |
| And even one day if I | do |
| | E |
| Well, I'll jump up and smile back at | you |
| I don't even know where we are |
| They tell me we're circlin' a star |
| Well I'll take their word, I don't know |
| But I'm dizzy so it may be so |
| I'm riding a big, round ball |
| I never do dream I may fall |
| And even the high must lay low |
| But when I do fall, I will be glad to go |
| Yes, when I do fall I will be glad to go |
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| @SONG: Havana Daydreamin' |
| @CHORDS: (costells@guvax.georgetown.edu)/(mhall@moe.coe.uga.edu) |
| *The intro and first part of the verses can be done |
| *by moving an A fingering up to the 7th and 9th frets |
| | A | D | E | D |
| | Stashed his | trash in | Ecua- | dor |
| | A | D | E | A |
| | Bought a good | suit of c | lothes | |
| | A | D | E | D | A | D | E | A |
| | Flew on | up to | Mexi- | co, | standin' | by the s | hore | |
| | D |
| | Waitin' for some mystery man to pay him for his time |
| But thinkin' 'bout all the money he'd made |
| | A |
| Couldn't help to ease his | mind |
| | E | D | A | D | E | D |
| Havana day | dreamin', boy he's just | dreamin' his life a | way | | | |
| Daddy chopped that sugarcane |
| Jesus had a wanderin' feelin' |
| Swimmin' around in his head |
| Sailin' on a midnight boat, |
| There were no questions asked |
| Water's so green and the air was so clean |
| He just stuck right to his task |
| Havana daydreamin', oh he's just schemin' |
| Ceiling fan stirs the air |
| Fragrance on the pillowcase |
| And he thinks about the girl |
| Spillin' wine and sharin' good times |
| She sure could make him smile |
| He pays her well, but what the hell |
| He'll be movin' in a little while |
| Havana daydreamin', oh he'll be dreamin' |
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| @CHORDS: Mike A. Hall (mhall@moe.coe.uga.edu) |
| | E |
| | She's got a ballpark figure |
| | A | E |
| | He's got a ballpoint | pen |
| | A | E |
| They | travel around for | weeks at a time |
| | B | A | B |
| | Writin' down descriptions of the | places they | been |
| | E |
| | She plays guitar but nothin' fancy |
| | A | E |
| | With no intention of becomin' a | star |
| | A | E |
| | Only thing that's botherin' | him these days |
| | B | A | B |
| Is | where he's gonna find a good | ten-cent | cigar |
| She never did make her debut |
| He never made it to class |
| She's eighty-sixed from the Chart Room |
| He's twenty nine and pushin' thirty real fast |
| They're funny when they get to rockin' |
| Goin' out for a night on the town |
| Takin' Polaroid pictures that are never in focus |
| Just to look at when they finally slow down |
| Wishin' every month of the year could be June |
| He's always tuned into Star Trek |
| She's always tuned into him |
| Hidin' his cookies when he gets the munchies |
| Tryin' hard just to keep the boy slim |
| Tonight they're gonna go star gazin' |
| An' try to figure out which one they're near |
| But try as they might I don't think they'll reach the height |
| You know you can't get there from here |
| Wishin' every month of the year could be June |
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| @SONG: Something So Feminine About A Mandolin |
| Something So Feminine About A Mandolin |
| By: Jimmy Buffett, Jane Slagsvol Buffett |
| | E | A | E |
| | It was late in the evenin', just a | few of us | pickin' |
| | A | E | A | B | E | B |
| But the | lady she | played so | easy and | fine | | |
| | E | A | E |
| And the c | hords that she strummed were so t | astefully c | lever |
| | F#m | Abm | F#m | Em |
| They | planted this | song in | my | mind |
| | A | E |
| 'Cause there's somethin' so feminine | about a | mandolin |
| | A | E | A | B | E | B |
| The | way that they | feel, the | way that they | ring | | |
| | E | A |
| Just to | see slender fingers, | movin' so quickly |
| | F#m | Abm | F#m | E |
| | Made this | boy want | to | sing |
| And when I get older and I have a daughter |
| I'll teach her to sing and play her my songs |
| And I'll tell her some stories I can barely remember |
| And hope that she will sing along |
| And maybe one day she'll take a fancy to pickin' |
| 'Cause when that bug bites you, you live with the sting |
| And if she could just strum a few simple measures |
| She could make some young man sing |
| 'Cause there's somethin' so feminine about a mandolin |
| Way that they feel, the way that they ring |
| And that evenin' in a pasture somewhere near Austin |
| That mandolin made me sing |
| Her mandolin made me sing |
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| Abm - |466444| F#m - |244222| |
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| @SONG: Kick It In Second Wind |
| By: Jimmy Buffett, Jane Slagsvol |
| | E7 |
| | One o'clock in mornin' |
| | A | E7 |
| | People pilin' in thru the | door |
| | A7 | E |
| | Drinks are still comin' and | I'm barely hummin' |
| | D | B7 |
| And the au | dience is screamin' for | more |
| Somebody's locked in the bathroom |
| Manager can't find the key |
| I pay that man but from where I stand |
| It's lookin' like the prisoner is me |
| | A | E |
| So won'tcha | kick it in now | second wind |
| | D |
| We got two more hours to g | o |
| | A | E |
| Is there | any more hope of scorin' | any more coke |
| | B7 | A |
| And we | still gotta do another | show |
| My mind started to wander |
| In the middle of my second song |
| Dreamin' I was at sea just my baby and me |
| When the words started comin' out wrong |
| Waitresses are pickin' up glasses |
| The bartenders scream last call |
| When I looked to my right I saw a terrible sight |
| As the bass man took a bad fall |
| So won'tcha kick it in now second wind |
| We got two more hours to go |
| Losin' any more hope of scorin' any more coke |
| And we still gotta do another show |
| It's three o'clock in the mornin' |
| What I'm tryin' to say is that tomorrow's today |
| And we got to do it over again |
| So won'tcha kick it in now second wind |
| We got two more hours to go |
| Losin' any more hope of scorin' any more coke |
| And we still gotta do another show |
| | D | A | E |
| | I got to, | do another | show |
| | D | A | E |
| | Got to, | do another | show |
| | D | A | E |
| | Got to, | do another | show,... |
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| @CHORDS: Sean Costello (costells@guvax.georgetown.edu) |
| | C |
| This | hotel room's got a lot of stuff |
| | G | C |
| A laundry bag and a | shoeshine | cloth |
| Thirty-two hangers and a touchtone phone |
| | G | C |
| With a light that comes on when | I ain't | home |
| | F | C |
| | I ain't home, | I ain't home |
| | G | C |
| You better leave a message, 'cause | I ain't | home |
| They got an air conditioner for when I'm hot |
| A radiator for when I'm not |
| Two big chairs sittin' side-by-side |
| With a Holy Bible and a TV Guide |
| TV Guide, TV Guide, great God almighty, it's a TV Guide |
| I got a second-story view from curb to curb |
| I got a sign that reads, "Do Not Disturb" |
| A monogrammed towel and bucket of ice |
| A chest of drawers and mirror that lies |
| Mirror that lies, mirror that lies |
| That couldn't be me in the gorilla disguise |
| They got a room service menu for food and drink |
| A porcelain throne and an aluminium sink |
| Two big pillows to rest my head |
| A Magic Fingers and a king-sized bed |
| Put in a quarter, turn out the light |
| Magic Fingers makes you feel alright |
| Feel alright, feel alright |
| Magic Fingers makes you feel alright |
| This old hotel's alright with me |
| They pay the postage if you lose the key |
| This hotel room's got a lot of stuff |
| But I do believe I've had enough |
| Call my baby said don't you pout |
| I'm packin' my bags and I'm checkin' out |
| Just as soon as you hang up the telephone |
| Stick a candle in the window, I'm comin' home |
| Stick a candle in the window I'm comin' home |
| Whoa, comin' home, comin' home |
| Stick a candle in the window I'm comin' home |
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| ******************************************************************** |
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| Disclaimer -(please read)-: |
| These chord arrangments were created for private use. Anyone who |
| distributes or copies them is in risk of violating copyright |
| laws. We claim no responsibility for what others do with these |
| lyrics and chord arrangements. |
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| - End of the HD GCC section... |
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| | This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation | |
| | of the song. You may only use this file for private study, scholarship, | |
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
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