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