The Name Is Clem Snide / Mr. Hart Couldn't Hear The Word Death: acordes por 
William S. Burroughs 
N/A
Tom: Ab major
Verse 1
Clem
F
G
Schneid. I am a private asshole.
C
As a private investigator, I
than the law allows. I mean the law
of averages.
G
F#
Here's a routine case of industri
E
Em
E#
factory blows up killing 23 people.
Am
F#
A#
B
Well these things happen. I
world going to and fro and
G
F#
walking up and down in it.
C
G
F#
Now death smells. I mean
death has a special smell.
Over and above the smell of cyanide,
cordite, blood
G
F#
carrying her burnt flesh.
G
It's a gray smell that stops the heart,
F#
E#
cuts off the
A#
F#
breath, smell of the empty body,
G#m
F#
smell of field hospitals and gangrene. I got a whiff
of it when
Mr.
E#
F#
Green walked into my office.
Now
Ernest
Hemingway could smell
it on others too.
Jeep with
General
A#
F
Lanham known as
Bb
Bucky to
Bb
Gb
Ernie was a real general lover.
It's worse than being a cop lover.
G
F#
Well here they are and he's
returning from the front line where
Jones
E
Have to relieve that man says
F
E
Bucky says
Ernie you won't
He won't make it.
He stinks of death.
When the jeep reached
regimental command post it was stopped
by the turn of
Colonel
John
Ruggles.
F
Bb
Ruggles saluting the major
has just been killed.
Bb
battalion?
Mr.
Hart isn't trying to be a nice
C#
Bb
guy any longer.
C
decides uphill and rather unrewarding work.
F
Hart sets out to beat death.
F#
learns to kill through his newspapers and
Abm
F#
he teaches his editors the tricks as
E
F#
they crawl up his ladder.
Now you just move this tenement
F#
Chuckling over roasted babies,
G
F#
car accidents and riots
like a southern lawman feeling
D
F#
his nigger notches.
Mr.
Hart has to be inhuman
because humans are mortal,
and
Mr.
Hart is addicted to immortality.
He's addicted to an immortality
E
F#
predicated on the mor tality
G
Eb
F#
of others, gooks, niggers,
wags, human dogs,
and feeling his own contempt
for these apes
Bb
affords him a mineral calm.
F#
He's addicted to a certain
brain frequency,
A#
F#
G
B
A#
a little high blue don't feel so good,
F#
that feeling he can just swim in
it forever and ever.
E#
A#
F#
G#
And this cool blue frequency comes
F#
from making hands tremble and sweat,
Am
A
G#m
from feeling the dear meritorious
F#
E#
F#
poor wriggle and slobber under his boots,
G
for making people ugly and grind in their faces
F#
A#
and from knowing can squash
F#
an editor like a bug and seeing his
C#
A#
editor and know it.
BJ
E
F#
this old searching tycoon with this
C#
F#
F#
dark side to his character.
Mr.
F#
G#
Hart death will not serve a stranger
F#
who cannot prove his title a gringo who
G
F#
E
fears the very word and sets up a house ruled the word
D#
C#
death may not be pronounced in his presence.
F#
A#
Hey,
F#
look at all them dead bodies.
Audre points with his left hand as virus
G#m
G#
F#
remote sea s of pastime rages through cities
of the world like a topping forest fire.
Last take,
Mr.
A#
Hart's deserted, ruined mansion,
F#
graffiti on the walls.
Ah,
Pook was here.
Here lived a stupid, vulgar son of a bitch who
thought he could hire death as a company cop.
Yes, sir.
Thank
Thank you.
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