Introduction
It wasn’t just a performance—it was a detonation. When Linda Ronstadt unleashed her version of “Poor Poor Pitiful Me”, the world didn’t hear a cover. They heard an execution, a resurrection, and a revolution—all in the span of a few minutes.
Warren Zevon wrote the track with his usual dark wit, a sardonic edge that was never meant to be gentle. But in 1977, Ronstadt seized it and detonated it like a live grenade. Gone was the sly smirk of satire. In its place was a raw, blistering cry of power, defiance, and unfiltered sensuality. Her voice—silky velvet wrapped around a stick of dynamite—exploded through the verses, shattering every neat little box the music industry had built for her.
Critics panicked. What was this? Country? Rock? Parody? Confession? The truth is, it was none of those things. It was Ronstadt unchained—a woman unafraid to bare rage, desire, and irony in a male-dominated industry that never expected a female artist to hit that hard. She didn’t just sing the song; she tore into it, branded it with her own fire, and dared anyone to challenge her.
Audiences were stunned. Here was a woman who could out-sing any man, out-power any band, and do it all with elegance sharpened into a blade. “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” wasn’t just music—it was a declaration. A warning shot. Proof that Linda Ronstadt wasn’t just part of rock history—she was rewriting the script in real time.
Decades later, that performance still hits like a lightning strike. It’s wild. It’s messy. It’s untamed. And it’s shocking in the purest sense of the word: the shock of truth screamed at full volume.
Video
Lyrics
Well, I lay my head on the railroad track
Waiting on the double E
But the train don’t run by here no more
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord, have mercy on me
Woah-woah, is me
Well, I met a man out in Hollywood
Now I ain’t naming names
Well, he really worked me over good
Just like Jesse James
Yes, he really worked me over good
He was a credit to his gender
Put me through some changes, Lord
Sort of like a waring blender
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord, have mercy on me
Woah-woah, is me
Well, I met a boy in the Vieux Carres
Down in Yokohama
Picked me up and he threw me down
He said, “Please don’t hurt me, mama”
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord, have mercy on me
Woah-woah, is me
Poor, poor, poor me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor, poor me
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor, poor me
Poor, poor pitiful me
