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. Wasted away again in Margaritaville Searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt. Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, But I know, it’s my own damn fault.