Em D
Joker man takes off his mask
C
Reveals a car salesman and at last, says
Em D
“Grow up, son, you know it’s just a masquerade, now
C
Be a good boy and get me and the boss a Gatorade»
Em D
You can work up quite a thirst
C
Watchin’ all them bubbles burst
Em D
I was following Ghandi on the twitter
C
He tweeted “Son, I don’t like to see you bitter”
Em D
But if you wanna get in this kind of shape
C
Well, it’s abstinence and a protein shake
Em D
Or you could lose your appetite
C
Watching wrong pass for right
Em D
Yeah, you could lose your appetite
C
Watching wrong pass for right
Em D
Save me a place at the bar
C
Bobby Dylan was selling cars
Em D
All hail the stripes and the stars
C
Bobby Dylan, was selling cars
Em D
Voyeurs, critics, bloggers, vultures
C
Pick their percentage off the carcass of the culture
Em D
In Rome we fiddled as corporations
C
Pull out to other nations, give Mother Earth a facial
Em D
All men are created equal, more or less
C
Free to negotiate a sequel, God bless!
Em D
Don’t call me a hypocrite, naive
C
You can take as good as given, still believe
Em D
Mo-Town slim pictures of Lucky 7
C
While the believin’ Pete Seeger has to hitch his way to heaven
Em D
Oh, I have learned the victor’s secrets
C
You can show panties and still remain a Jesus
Em D
Save me a place at the bar
C
Bobby Dylan was selling cars
Em D
All hail the stripes and the stars
C
Bobby Dylan, was selling cars
F#m C#m
I don’t wanna
B C#m
Complain
F#m G#m
But this whole world
C#m G#m F#m
Seems strange
A E F#m
The writing on the wall, I think
A C D
Was written to disappear in ink
Em D
I’m sure your morals are beyond reproach
C
But it’s not like I’m asking you to fly coach
Em D
I know it’s uncool not to be ironic
C
And I know that you’re bulletproof iconic
Em D
I really shouldn’t be throwin’ stones, no
C
Cause chasing spooks on Fox I made my bones
Em D
We’re all guilty of sin
C
Comes up and force someone to keep from gettin’ in
Em D
Those who used to hustle ho
C
Fashion the nooses now out of a velvet rope
Em D
But I guess there’s nothin’ much to do
C
Cause only you can write the song that gets to you
Em D
I guess there’s nothing much to do
C
Cause only you can write the song that gets to you
Em D
Save me a place at the bar
C
Bobby Dylan was selling cars
Em D
Well, I guess I should be goin’
Em D
Aw, shit, is that Leonard Cohen?
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