Written by Maria McKee
D G D
I can barely feels the sheets with all these crumbs down in my bed, oh no.
D G D
How can I get to sleep with all this buzzin' in my head?
Bm Em
An' who'd've ever thought I'd not complain about a mess
G
Serves me right, I guess, this is what I get
Em G D
For eatin' crackers with my gin, an' drinkin' in my Sunday dress
D G D
Telephone is by the bottle which is always by my bed.
D G D
Time to time I give it a rattle to make sure that it's not dead.
Bm Em
I will wait here for your call till I run out of cigarettes
G
I love to play the part of the damsel in distress
Em G D
Flickin' ashes in my coffee, drinkin' in my Sunday dress
Chorus 1:
G C
Well I've been on the road to this
G C
An' I've been on the way to this
G C
But who'd 'a think it'd come to this
G D A
Don't let on you've seen me like this, like this
My old transistor's soundin' 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 nothin' but the best
Cognac an' Patsy Cline, while drinkin' in my Sunday dress
Chorus 2:
Well I've been on the road to this
An' 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, heā??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."
I said: "Remember who's beside you when it's no business of mine."
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