Tono: E
E
G#m
A
E
There's a painting of my grandfather, on my mothers side
F#m
G#m
A
B
in the hallway of our homestaed, in a special place of pride
E
G#m
A
E
with his bulldogs and kanakas, back in eighteen nighty three
A
E
F#m
B
E
in a linen suit and a panama, they say he looked like me.
E
G#m
A
E
and the story goes he came out, to make a brand new start
F#m
G#m
A
B
in an effort to forget, a sad affair of the heart
E
G#m
A
E
so with these romantic notions, to the colonies he came
A
E
F#m
B
E
where he settled in the tropics and made his fortune growing cane.
E
Well let the canefields burn, let the flames rise
E
A
E
let the politicians and the bankers in the city look up
E
A
E
in wonder at the glow at in the sky.
E
let the canefield burn, let me feel no pain
A
E
B
E
when I drown my soul in whisky, and dance in the flames.
E
G#m
A
E
There's a photo of my parents, taken in between the wars
F#m
G#m
A
B
in London, Rome or Paris, I don't know for shure
E
G#m
A
E
but it hangs there in the hallway and there's one for every year
A
G#m
F#m
B
E
fortunes made, and fortunes paid, for champagne souveniers.
Chorus:....let the canefields burn....
C#m
E
And they say they're gonna take this all away from me
C#m
E
the cars the cane the homestead, all my family history
C#m
E
A
well tomorrow when the bankers come, to settle all their claims
E
B
E
let the auctioneer open...with a price for charred remains!
Chorus:....let the canefields burn....