I can barely feel the sheets with all these crumbs down in my bed
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How can I get to sleep with all this buzzin' in my head
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And who'd have ever thought I'd not complain about a mess
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Servers me right I guess
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This is what I get
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For eatin' crackers with my gin
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And drinkin' in my Sunday dress
|
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The telephone is by the bottle, which is always by my bed
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From time to time I give it a rattle to make sure that it's not dead
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I will wait here for your call till I run out of cigarettes
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I love to play the part of the damsel in distress
|
Flickin' ashes in my coffee
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Drinkin' in my Sunday dress
|
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Well I?e been on the road to this and I've been on the way to this
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But who'd a'think it'd come to this
|
Don't let on you've seem me like this
|
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My old transistor's sounding just as twangy as a Fender
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My radiator growls like Elvis after Sunday dinner
|
I've drained my last Tequila and I've thrown away the blender
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I've poured out all the wine
|
From how on nothin' but the best
|
Cognac and Pasty Cline while drinkin' in my Sunday dress
|
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Well I?e been on the road to this and I've been on the way to this
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I surely ain't a hypocrite
|
I've had my fun and now I must confess
|
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Our reverend is a kingly soul
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Repents 'em on a dime
|
His Bible is not inked in gold
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He's not the cheatin' kind
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One Sunday after meetin'
|
I was in the greetin' line
|
He said I've seen you from the altar
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Gulpin' down communion wine
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Just remember who's beside you
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When it's no business of mine
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|
Sunday Dress
|
| Crash Test Dummies |
