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 with all this buzzin' in my head?
An' who'd've ever thought I'd not complain a mess?
Serves me right, I
This is I get for eatin' crackers with my gin,
An' drinkin' in my dress.

Telephone is by the which is always by my bed.
Time to time I give it a rattle to make sure it's not dead.
I will here for your call till I run out of cigarettes.
I to play the part of the damsel in distress,
Flickin' in my coffee,
in my Sunday dress.

Well been on the road to this,
An' I've on the way to this,
But who'd 'a it'd come to this?
let on you've seen me like this, like this.

My old transistor's soundin' as twangy as a Fender.
My radiator like Elvis after Sunday dinner.
I've my last Tequila and I've thrown away the blender,
I've poured out all the wine; now on nothin' but the best:
an' Patsy Cline,
While in my Sunday dress.

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

Our is a kingly soul; repents 'em on a dime.
His Bible is not 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 beside you when it's no business of mine."
I said: "Just remember who's beside you when it's no of mine."