Mr. Kahn

04:07
A Love Electric
09/16/2014
Todd Clouser

Lyrics

In the bowels of Chicago

Where the laundry flips its mills

Where the streets are owned by the invalids

There's glass webbed at every door

 

Where the meter maids are undressing

Themselves for the alcoholic men

Carrying cardboard hearts with gentle pleas

Pissing on the church steps where Mary lays

 

It was the sun sun sun set

woke him to the best ever wind

To the station, he'd won the lottery (out with the cyanide)

 

G        Bb         A

Mr Kahn scratched his ticket to the morgue

 

Where hope has all gone capsized

And dire mars pok the people's skins

Where there's dollars shaved deep beneath your fingers

Where he worked and barely sinned

 

Perhaps it was brother in the mustache

The old boy couldn't make a job last

Hiw kids they were far too young

Just teetghin, his wife always seemed the angel 

 

Someone bought the poisoned water

And poured it to his vodka tall

When he changed the television station

No one must have been looking

 

It was the moon the moon the moon charm

That shined on his breathless skin

 

 

 VERSE

 

 

In the parlents of our times

When money rolls thicker than blood

And blood tricks thick for money

Its hard to know, there's so many people to say it was

 

 

 

 

D   G     D    G    D   Emin     G     F

Poor Poor Mr Kahn you see

He tipped the clerk twice his pay

Whist whist whistled the land of the free

Mr Kahn scratched his ticket to the morgue

 

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