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 that i'd not complain about a mess
I'm sorry to be right i guess
This is what i get for eating crackers with my gin and drinking 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 its not dead
I will wait here for your call til i run out of cigarettes
I love to play the part of the damsil in distress
Flickin ashes in my coffee drinkin in my sunday dress
****chorus****
My old transistors sounding just as wangy as a ******
My radiator growls like elvis after sunday dinner
I've drained my last tequila and i've thrown away the blender
I've poored out all the wine and i want nothing but the best
***** patsy cline while drinkin in my sunday dress
Chorus