| Song | Drinkin' In My Sunday Dress |
| Artist | Maria McKee |
| Album | Maria McKee |
| 作词 : 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 |
| zuò cí : 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 |