I can barely feel the sheets with all these crumbs down in my bed How can I get to sleep with all this buzzin' in my head And who'd have ever thought I'd not complain about a mess Serves me right I guess, this is what I get For eatin' crackers with my gin And drinkin' in my Sunday dress
The telephone is by the bottle which is always by my bed From time to time I give it a rattle to make sure that it's not dead I will wait here for your call till I run out of cigarettes I love to play the part of the damsel in distress Flickin' ashes in my coffee Drinkin' in my Sunday dress
Well I've been on the road to this and I've been on the way to this But who'da think it'd come to this Don't let on you've seen me like this My old transistor's sounding just as twangy as a Fender My radiator growls like Elvis after Sunday dinner I've drained my last tequila and I've thrown away the blender I've poured out all the wine, from now on nothing but the best Cognac and Patsy Cline While drinkin' in my Sunday dress
Well I've been on the road to this and I've been on the way to this I surely ain't a hypocrite I've had my fun and now I must confess Our reverend is a kingly soul, repents ‘em on a dime His bible is not inked in gold, he is not the cheatin' kind One Sunday after meetin' I was in the greetin' line He said I've seen you from the altar Gulpin' down communion wine Just remember who's beside you when it's no business of mineTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
