Kvalita textu : bez hodnotenia Hodnotilo ľudí: 0ohodnoť aj ty
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 whod have ever thought Id not complain about a mess
Servers 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 its 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 Ive been on the road to this and Ive been on the way to this
But whod athink itd come to this
Dont let on youve seem me like this
My old transistors sounding just as twangy as a fender
My radiator growls like elvis after sunday dinner
Ive drained my last tequila and Ive thrown away the blender
Ive poured out all the wine
From how on nothin but the best
Cognac and pasty cline while drinkin in my sunday dress
Well Ive been on the road to this and Ive been on the way to this
I surely aint a hypocrite
Ive 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
Hes not the cheatin kind
One sunday after meetin
I was in the greetin line
He said Ive seen you from the altar
Gulpin down communion wine
Just remember whos beside you
When its no business of mine
Charles Aznavour:
