From Under The Covers
The Beautiful SouthVersion1
90
Chords in this song
Strum
D-DU-UDU
It's six a.m. and even Big Ben
Is trying to get his head down for a kip
But no sooner is it down
And then it's on with dressing gown
For this city very rarely loses grip
But I have a friend who's never up by ten
He's fast asleep with mouth open wide
He's lost a lot of jobs, but he's won a lot of friends
And he says to me, he cannot tell the time
It's seven a.m. and we're coughing up the phlegm
Spitting out the taste of night before
And we'll vomit and we'll choke
Just to climb their tatty rope
Well this city has its charm and its claw
And he'll blame his clock
Or he'll say he's lost his socks
And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake
His excuses are an art
>From the bottom of his heart
And he thinks of them whenever he awakes
It's eight a.m. we're on the road again
Racing for a placing at the top
And it says green for go
For the people in the know
But for the others all it says is red for stop
It's cold and it's damp
And they've dug him a grave
And the ten fifteen merchant's still in bed
And scrawled upon the headboard
For the whole wide world to see is
"Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"
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Readable chord sheet for From Under The Covers by The Beautiful South
[Dm] [Am] [Bb] [F] [C] [Dm] [C] [F] [Dm] [Am] [Bb] [F] [C] [Dm] [C] [F] It's [Dm]six a.[Bb]m. and [F]even Big [C]Ben Is [Dm]trying to get his [Bb]head down for a [F]ki[C]p But no [Dm]sooner is it [Bb]down And then it's [F]on with dressing [C]gown For this [Dm]city very [Bb]rarely loses [F]gri[C]p But [F]I have a [C]friend who's [Bb]never up by [C]ten He's [F]fast as[C]leep with [Bb]mouth open [C]wide He's [F]lost a lot of [C]jobs, but he's [Bb]won a lot of [C]friends And he [F]says to [C]me, he [Bb]cannot tell the [C]time It's seven a.m. and we're coughing up the phlegm Spitting out the taste of night before And we'll vomit and we'll choke Just to climb their tatty rope Well this city has its charm and its claw And he'll blame his clock Or he'll say he's lost his socks And they'll tell you that he's been bitten by a snake His excuses are an art >From the bottom of his heart And he thinks of them whenever he awakes It's eight a.m. we're on the road again Racing for a placing at the top And it says green for go For the people in the know But for the others all it says is red for stop It's cold and it's damp And they've dug him a grave And the ten fifteen merchant's still in bed And scrawled upon the headboard For the whole wide world to see is "Died In The Arms Of Big Ted"