Standard (EADGBE)

Intro

[G/f#] /

Verse

[G/f#] /

The judge sits on his great assize

Twelve men wise with swollen thighs

Who never ever told no lies

Whose minds were ever such a size

Whose lives were ever such a prize

Whose brains bred answers just like flies

Whose answers stalked their thoughts like spies

Whose lead ball through the courtroom flies

To rip a hole clean between two eyes

That never ever wore disguise

And never ever saw blue skies

Who quickly lived now slowly dies

Who closed unopened otherwise

Chorus

Well you can lead a horse to water

But you're never gonna make him drink

And you can lead a man to slaughter

But you're never gonna make him think

Verse 2

The critic rubs his tired arse

Scrapes his poor brains, strains and farts

And wields a pen that stops and starts

And thinks in terms of booze and tarts

And sits there playing with his parts

He says I'm much too crude and far too course

And he says this singer's just a farce

He's got no healing formulas

He's got no cure-all for our scars

He's got no bra-strap for our bras

And our sagging tits no longer hold a full house of hearts

And you know what? I don't think this little song's gonna make the charts

Chorus

not-obvious chords:

Lublin, Poland

22.07.09