Luyện nghe bài hát Drinkin' In My Sunday Dress

I can feels the sheets with all these crumbs down in my bed, oh no.
How can I get to sleep all this buzzin' in my head?
An' who'd've ever thought I'd not complain about a
me right, I guess:
This is what I get for eatin' crackers my gin,
An' drinkin' in my dress.

Telephone is by the bottle is always by my bed.
Time to time I it a rattle to make sure that it's not dead.
I will wait here for your call I run out of cigarettes.
I love to play the of the damsel in distress,
Flickin' in my coffee,
Drinkin' in my dress.

I've been on the road to this,
An' been on the way to this,
But who'd 'a it'd come to this?
Don't let on you've seen me like this, this.

My old soundin' just as twangy as a Fender.
My radiator growls like after Sunday dinner.
I've drained my last and I've thrown away the blender,
I've out all the wine; from now on nothin' but the best:
Cognac an' Cline,
While drinkin' in my dress.

Well I've on the road to this,
An' been on the way to this.
I surely ain't a
had my fun and now I must confess.

Our reverend is a kingly soul; 'em on a dime.
His is not inked in gold, he is not the cheatin' kind.
One Sunday meetin', I was in the greetin' line.
He said: "I've you from the altar,
"Gulpin' down wine."
"Just remember who's beside you it's no business of mine."
I said: "Just remember beside you when it's no business of mine."