Nibbling on sponge cake, watching the sun bake;
All of those tourists covered with oil.
Strumming my six string on my front porch swing.
Smell those shrimps, they're beginning to boil.
Wasted away again in Margaritaville,
Searching for my lost 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, stayed here all season
With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo.
But it's a real beauty, a Mexican cutie
How it got here? I haven't a clue.
Now I think, - hell it could be my fault.
I blew out my flip flop, stepped on a pop top,
Cut my heel, had to cruise on back home.
But there's booze in the blender, and soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on.
But I know, it's my own damn fault.
Yes, and some people claim that there's a woman to blame
And I know it's my own damn fault.