The Black Matilda
The RumjacksVersion1
90
Chords in this song
Strum
D-DU-UDU
By the windy shores o' Canada bay I broke my fast for Lucia's day,
A beguiling figure she blew my away & rattled me rovin' heart,
The snipers crack, the metronome of pricy heels on polished stone,
That I were soon to call my own by way o' the ancient art.
I were cozened by a whiff-o-the-whim that scours the Costa harryin',
The likes o' men who've lost the lamp, the rudderless and bewildered,
The sands below are littered wi'bones o'those whove taken a belly o'stones,
And turned their backs on wives & homes to follow the black Matilda.
Ho-ro m'lovelies cross yer hearts & hope to die,
If e'er ye're drawn beneath a murky fathom of her eye,
Ho-ro m'lovelies kiss yer arse a fond goodbye,
Ye'll never again be able to lift yer head so bloody high.
For even the boys of Inverary know, from Tortuga to Jericho,
She took three hundred souls below off the deck o' the Andalusia,
The poets and the Sages tried to warn us down the ages,
Their blood drips from the pages where they tell o' the Black Matilda.
She pursed her lips & spun a tune as fine as any silk cocoon,
That's ever left McEacherns loom & held me there in a tawper,
A bastard I was born y'ken? I lived as tho' I'd never end,
I'll die a disenchanted man, they'll bury me as a pauper,
For men have drowned & men have swung, the brig at Iron Cove were hung,
Wi' a garland of the old, the young, all battered & unfamiliar,
There's no poetry theres no tune, no point in howlin' at the moon,
A caution to ye very soon ye'll waltz yer Black Matilda.
Ho-ro m'lovelies cross yer hearts & hope to die,
If e'er ye're drawn beneath a murky fathom of her eye,
Ho-ro m'lovelies kiss yer arse a fond goodbye,
Ye'll never again be able to lift yer head so bloody high.
For even the boys of Inverary know, from Tortuga to Jericho,
She took three hundred souls below off the deck o' the Andalusia,
The poets and the Sages tried to warn us down the ages,
Their blood drips from the pages where they tell o' the Black Matilda.
By the windy shores o Canada bay I broke my fast for Lucia's day,
A beguiling figure she blew my away & rattled me rovin' heart,
The snipers crack, the metronome of pricy heels on polished stone,
That I were soon to call my own by way o' the ancient art.
Ho-Ro m'lovelies, cross yer hearts & hope to die,
Its enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry,
Ho-Ro m'lovelies, kiss yer arse a fond goodbye,
Its enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry,
Ho-Ro m'lovelies, cross yer hearts & hope to die,
Its enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry,
Ho-Ro m'lovelies, kiss yer arse a fond goodbye,
It's enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry,
Enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry,
Enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry,
Enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye die,
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Readable chord sheet for The Black Matilda by The Rumjacks
By the w[C]indy shores o' Canada bay I br[G]oke my fast for Lucia's day, [Am]A beguiling figure she blew my away & rattled me rovin' heart, The sn[C]ipers crack, the metronome of pr[G]icy heels on polished stone, That [Am]I were soon to call my own by way o' the ancient art. I were [C]cozened by a whiff-o-the-whim that sc[G]ours the Costa harryin', The li[Am]kes o' men who've lost the lamp, the rudderless and bewildered, The san[C]ds below are littered wi'bones o't[G]hose whove taken a belly o'stones, And tu[Am]rned their backs on wives & homes to follow the black Matilda. [G]Ho-ro m'lovelies cross yer [Am]hearts & hope to die, [Am]If e'er ye're drawn beneath a murky fa[G]thom of her eye, [G]Ho-ro m'lovelies kiss yer a[Am]rse a fond goodbye, [Am]Ye'll never again be able to lift yer h[G]ead so bloody high. For even the b[C]oys of Inverary know, from T[G]ortuga to Jericho, She [Am]took three hundred souls below off the deck o' the Andalusia, The p[C]oets and the Sages tried to w[G]arn us down the ages, Their b[Am]lood drips from the pages where they tell o' the Black Matilda. She pu[C]rsed her lips & spun a tune as f[G]ine as any silk cocoon, That's e[Am]ver left McEacherns loom & held me there in a tawper, A ba[C]stard I was born y'ken? I li[G]ved as tho' I'd never end, I'll d[Am]ie a disenchanted man, they'll bury me as a pauper, For me[C]n have drowned & men have swung, the br[G]ig at Iron Cove were hung, Wi' a [Am]garland of the old, the young, all battered & unfamiliar, Th[C]ere's no poetry theres no tune, no p[G]oint in howlin' at the moon, A c[Am]aution to ye very soon ye'll waltz yer Black Matilda. [G]Ho-ro m'lovelies cross yer [Am]hearts & hope to die, [Am]If e'er ye're drawn beneath a murky fat[G]hom of her eye, [G]Ho-ro m'lovelies kiss yer a[Am]rse a fond goodbye, [Am]Ye'll never again be able to lift yer h[G]ead so bloody high. For even the b[C]oys of Inverary know, from T[G]ortuga to Jericho, She [Am]took three hundred souls below off the deck o' the Andalusia, The p[C]oets and the Sages tried to w[G]arn us down the ages, Their b[Am]lood drips from the pages where they tell o' the Black Matilda. By the w[C]indy shores o Canada bay I bro[G]ke my fast for Lucia's day, [Am]A beguiling figure she blew my away & rattled me rovin' heart, The sn[C]ipers crack, the metronome of pr[G]icy heels on polished stone, That [Am]I were soon to call my own by way o' the ancient art. [C]Ho-Ro m'lovelies, cross yer h[G]earts & hope to die, Its e[Am]nough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry, [C]Ho-Ro m'lovelies, kiss yer ar[G]se a fond goodbye, Its e[Am]nough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry, [C]Ho-Ro m'lovelies, cross yer h[G]earts & hope to die, Its e[Am]nough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry, [C]Ho-Ro m'lovelies, kiss yer ar[G]se a fond goodbye, It's [Am]enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry, Enoug[Am]h to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry, Enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye cry, Enough to make ye cry, enough to make ye die,