Tom: B minor
Intro 1
A
B
E
A
C
Dm
F
Dm
Em
C
Em
C
Dm
F
C
Dm
C
Dm
Am
F
Em
F
C
Dm
Em
Am
Dm
Am
Dm
Em
Dm
Am
Dm
Verse 1
Em
The grey man at the wheel
C
Dm
Looks around to see if there's
Am
Dm
some skirt he can steal
D
Em
He doesn't really want to,
Dsus4
Dm
he's just acting out a game
Am
And in their own fucked up way,
Dm
most people do the same
Em
She cleans the bathroom mirror
Am
Dm
so she can line her eyes
Am
F
Aaug
Dm
an artist in disguise
Em
She's not content with what she
Am
Dm
is, but she does the best she can
F
But she doesn't do it for herself,
Am
Dm
she does it for her man
And meanwhile he's out hunting,
this master of the hunt
Em
Cruising down the high street in his
And the posters on the hoardings
Glossy ads, where men are men,
and women simply cute
And the men are in their motorcars and
Em
the men have nerves of steel
And they dreams of charlies angels
C
as they firmly grip the wheel
And they fantasise they're screwing in
Dm
the back seat of the car
Fantasise they're fucking with
a real life movie star
D
E
Fantasies to fill the gaps, to fill in every crack
C
A whitewash of reality to hide
Dm
D
the truth they lack.
Now she's sponging down the cooker,
E
on the surface all is fine
Dm
'cause he's do ing overtime
D
Dm
She switches on the telly,
D
E
Em
it makes her feel se cure
C
Helps confirm her way of life,
Dm
D
who needs to ask for more
Dm
D
She sees the happy family unit,
E
Em
wife and hubby on the screen
D
just like it's always been
G
She's done the very best she can
Bb
To love and honour and obey her man
G
And if she should ever doubt the
wisdom of her choice
Bb
She can turn on the television
for its moderating voice
G
The ads and weekly series
are the proof she needs
Bb
That a life of boredom
outweighs the deeds
C
G
She sits up till the epilogue
and goes to bed alone
Dm
Bb
Content that when he's finished
work he'll go straight home
G
Meanwhile he downs another scotch,
the lady has a coke
Bb
And if he's asked about
F
the wife he treats it as a joke
you- know- what"
Bb
He's got what it takes and
he'll take plenty more
Bb
She took on a rat to keep the
G
Then maybe in her loneliness she'll
want to have a child
Bb
Who'll be taught the games of adulthood,
boxed and filed
G
Another life to whitewash,
to us a child is born
Bb
To follow in its parents' tracks,
the path's well worn
G
Fantasy and falsehood, truth and lie
Bb
The fucked up system they call reality
G
The system needs its servants,
each birth is one more
Bb
Gently talk of freedom as they quietly
lock the door
G
'cause the system needs its servants
if the system's going to run
C
Needs its fodder for the workhouse,
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