Intro: Em D | C

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?