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Pink-Slips

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A
Three brides before breakfast.
F♯m
These rails just wrecked us. 
  
My 
Bm
right hand on my heart while my 
D
left hand 
E
snaps your necklace.
A
Each day gets a little more scary. 
  
We’re 
F♯m
holding on, in a way, but just barely. 
Bm
Moms and Dads are rationing their 
D
cash for the 
E
commissary. 
  
But 
E
I can’t 
F♯m
start without 
D
going 
E
all the 
C♯m
way 
F♯m
  
it’s a 
Bm
habit someone 
E
gave me. 
  
The 
A
nursemaid of the blank page. 
  
F♯m
canary of the American eclipse. 
  
Bm
profiteer picking up 
E
pink slips.
A
This wish just to go back, hey… 
F♯m
when I know wasn’t ever, ever happy! 
Bm
Show me my best memory - it’s 
D
probably 
E
super crappy. 
A
Nine years down in Texas, 
  
with 
F♯m
sluts of both sexes, 
Bm
liars, lumps, and drug addicts, and 
D
drunks; 
  
E
love my friends, 
  
but 
E
I can’t 
F♯m
stop without 
D
going 
E
all the 
C♯m
way,
F♯m
 
  
and I’ve 
Bm
been that way since 
E
’83. 
  
The 
A
midwife of the jetlife. 
  
Oh, 
F♯m
genie with a golden spliff. 
  
Bm
prostitute paid in 
E
pink slips.
  
A
crashed my Cadillac in the valley of mirrors. 
F♯m
When the call came, there was nobody here. 
  
When they 
Bm
came from the communists, I kissed them on the lips. 
  
Then they 
D
came for the singers, in a 
E
haze of pink slips.
  
A
guess I was just dreaming and drifting. 
  
I guess I was 
F♯m
artificially lifted. 
Bm
Only happy until the age of 
D
ten is 
E
still a gift, 
  
but we 
E
can’t go 
F♯m
back to those 
Bm
“22
E
7” day
C♯m
s.
F♯m
 
  
It’s just a 
Bm
dream we all were 
E
having. 
  
Hey, 
A
mariner in the dirt trade. 
  
Oh, 
F♯m
postman of the post-apocalypse - 
  
from 
Bm
Academy Awards to 
E
pink slips!
  
And I 
A
showered my Corvette with Moët for years, 
  
but now I’m 
F♯m
standing in the rain drinking the champagne of beers. 
  
They say, “
Bm
Who’s that shadow sneaking off behind the pier? 
  
He was 
D
rushed and then he was rattled, but now he’s 
E
finally in the clear
  
to be a 
A
refugee from the rat race, 
  
in his 
F♯m
white tuxedo and his sad-face. 
  
Bm
music group that your dad plays, 
E
singing songs about autumn days.
  
He’s the 
A
laureate of the Granite State,
  
and now he 
F♯m
doesn’t even write, he just riffs.
  
And they’ll 
Bm
cover up his coffin with 
E
pink slips.”
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tabs/pink-slips.txt · Last modified: 2015/01/10 12:23 (external edit)