Introduction
When Linda Ronstadt stepped up to the microphone in 1977 to record “Poor Poor Pitiful Me,” no one could have predicted just how earth-shattering her version would become. This wasn’t just another cover. This was a musical detonation that turned Warren Zevon’s darkly witty composition into a nationwide shockwave.
Ronstadt didn’t whisper pain. She screamed it, laughed at it, and dared America to look heartbreak in the eye. Where others might have softened Zevon’s biting lyrics, she doubled down—delivering them with a fire that made the world realize that female rock singers weren’t just background voices in a male-dominated scene. They were front and center, tearing down the walls.
The song itself is a paradox—tragic yet funny, heartbreaking yet rebellious. Ronstadt’s voice carries both the sarcasm and the raw wound beneath it. She transforms “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” into more than a story of failed love; it becomes a feminist anthem of survival, mocking the very idea of self-pity. Instead of sounding defeated, she sounds victorious—like a woman who has stared down the chaos of bad love and come out stronger, sharper, and unapologetically loud.
And let’s be clear—this wasn’t a safe move. In an era when women were expected to sing sweet ballads or play second fiddle to rock’s leading men, Linda Ronstadt detonated expectations. She took a song laced with dark humor, sexual tension, and raw vulnerability and blasted it across FM radio with a voice that could tear steel in half.
The result? Shock. Awe. And respect. Ronstadt not only made “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” her own—she redefined what women in rock could do.
So the next time someone dares to underestimate Linda Ronstadt, remind them of this: she took one of the most brutally witty songs of the ’70s and turned it into a battle cry heard around the world.
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
