I can barely feels the sheets with all these crumbs down in my bed, oh no.
How can I get to sleep with all this buzzin' in my head?
An' who'd've 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, an' drinkin' in my Sunday dress
Telephone is by the bottle which is always by my bed.
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
An' 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 soundin' just as twangy as a Fender