Chords
Pink Slips

 A                                                               F#m 
Three brides before breakfast. These rails just wrecked us.
 Bm                                                                 D                   E 
My right hand on my heart while my left hand snaps your necklace.
 A                                                                   F#m 
Each day gets a little more scary. We're holding on, in a way, but just barely.
 Bm                                                                 D                         E 
Moms and Dads are rationing their cash for the commissary.
         D               E                       C#m     F#m         Bm                     D                         E 
But I can't start without going all the way - it's a habit someone gave me.
         A                                                               F#m 
The nursemaid of the blank page. A canary of the American eclipse.
           D                                   E 
A profiteer picking up pink slips.
 A                                                                     F#m 
This wish just to go back, hey... when I know wasn't ever, ever happy!
 Bm                                                         D               E 
Show me my best memory - it's probably super crappy.
 A                                                           F#m 
Nine years down in Texas, with sluts of both sexes,
 Bm                                                                     D                   E 
liars, lumps, and drug addicts, and drunks  I love my friends,
         D               E                     C#m     F#m         Bm                       D                                     E 
but I can't stop without going all the way, and I've been that way since '83.
 A                                                           F#m 
The midwife of the jetlife. Oh, genie with a golden spliff.
     D                                   E 
A prostitute paid in pink slips.
 A                                                                                               F#m 
I crashed my Cadillac in the valley of mirrors. When the call came, there was nobody here.
 Bm 
When they came from the communists, I kissed them on the lips.
                     D                                                   E 
Then they came for the singers, in a haze of pink slips.
 A                                                                                 F#m 
I guess I was just dreaming and drifting, artificially lifted.
 Bm                                                   D                             E 
Only happy until the age of ten is still a gift,
         D                     E                         C#m   F#m   Bm 
but we can't go back to those     "227"         days.
                           D                               E 
It's just a dream we all were having.
 A                                                                         F#m 
Hey, mariner in the dirt trade. Oh, postman of the post-apocalypse -
             D                                     E 
from Academy Awards to pink slips!
 A                                                                                                                         F#m 
And I showered my Corvette with Moët for years, but now I'm standing
  in the rain drinking the champagne of beers.
                     Bm 
They say, "Who's that shadow sneaking off behind the pier?
                 D                                                                                           E 
He was rushed and then he was rattled, but now he's finally in the clear to be a
 A                                                                               F#m 
refugee from the rat race, in his white tuxedo and his sad-face.
     Bm                                                                 D                                       E 
A music group that your dad plays, singing songs about autumn days.
 A                                                                                   F#m 
He's the laureate of the Granite State, and now he doesn't even write, he just riffs.
                           D                                                   E 
And they'll cover up his coffin with pink slips."