All of those tourists covered with oil. Strumming my six string, on my front porch swing. Smell those shrimp, they're beginning to boil. Wasting away again in Margaritaville. Searching for my last shaker of salt.
Some people claim that there's a woman to blame.
But I know it's nobody's fault. Don't know the reason that I stayed here all season. With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo. But it's a real beauty, a Mexican cutie. I haven't a clue.