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