VERSE
A/E          D      E 
I was living on the hill, 
                       D      A/E 
By the water tower and hiking trails, 
                         D      E 
When the big one hit I’d have a seat, 
                                        D        A/E 
To watch masters abandon their dogs and dogs run free, 
C#m         G#dim7  F#m 
O baby it’s time to leave, 
         E                          D   A/E 
Take the van and the hearse down to New Orleans, 
C#m                         G#dim7    F#m 
Leave under the gaze of the billboard queens, 
        E                              D         A/E 
5 foot chicks with parted lips selling sweatshop jeans. 
 
A/E                        D        E 
These LA phonies and their bullshit bands, 
                            D   A/E 
Sound like dollar signs and Amy Grant, 
                                       D     E 
So reads the pulled quote from my last cover piece, 
                            D         A/E 
Entitled "The Oldest Man in Folk Rock Speaks” 
C#m                          G#dim7  F#m 
You can hear it all over the airwaves, 
    E                        D     A/E 
The manufactured gasp of the final days, 
               C#m                           G#dim7     F#m 
Someone should tell them ‘bout the time that they don’t have, 
              E                       D        A/E 
To praise the glorious future and the hopeless past.