Drinkin' In My Sunday Dress - Maria McKee

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 mine