Lyric Sunday Dress

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
Servers 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 d a think it d come to this
Don t let on you ve seem 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 how on nothin but the best
Cognac and pasty 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 s 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 mine