written by Maria McKee
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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
'Til I run out of cigarettes
I love to play the part
Of the damsel in distress
Flickin' ashes in my coffee
And 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 seen me like this
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'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
from Maria McKee
©1989 Geffen Again Music / Little Diva Music Company, administered by Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. BMI
click here to go to Maria McKee's official site
click here to return to links
