Chords for A Fistful O' Roses (Lyrics) - The Rumjacks

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_ [D] _ _ [G] _ _ _ Oh, I've loved you from afar!
[C] I've [G] borne you like a scar!
I've sung your name across the bloody [D] conqueries!
Oh [G] man, I've poisoned, took your heart!
[C] You're [G] charmless, little loser!
Now you've married a drunk, to bother the [D] daughter!
And [G] me, oh, is on time to spawn the beds!
[C] All the [G] folk are off the fence, screaming,
Hoorah!
Hurry the [D] fuck to places!
[G] A ripe parade of fools, [C] come to [G] stomp all of your do's!
Like a fistful of fire, you're a real thorn in my flesh!
We're [D] half-dead, [G] we're half-dead!
Half-dead, we're half-dead!
I think we're half-dead!
And we're here again!
[C] And we're half-dead, we're half-dead!
Oh, we can let [G] the whisky flow!
[C] We can let [G] the cups blow [D] again!
Sound away the nil, [G] like a fistful of [C] roses.
We'll take [G] hints with a grain, every [D] last tale!
The [G] rest can't tell! _ _ _
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_ _ _ _ _ [G] Oh, Spoonzer is a wretch, [C] up and [G] down the deck, like a tired old sinner [D] off her game.
[G] Where your blood rattle and send a youth to burn her hips, still the [D] regulars, the lover [G] just the same.
Where the mutts, fat boots, [C] talk their way [G] among the streets, and the silence come to rattle the [D] camphor of Jesus.
[G] Fill the chain up, all the [C] doors, and toss [G] out all the whores, where your [D] fistful of half-dead _ [G] roses.
And we're here again, oh [C] again, let the [G] whiskey flow [C] again, [G] let the taps flow [D] again, sound away the mail.
And [G] like a fistful of [C] roses, we'll take him [G] to the grave, [D] every last tale there [G] is to tell. _ _ _
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[D] _ _ [G] _ _ _ _ The only autumn leaves turn to twenties at your feet, and the higher mighty come [D] to know your thunder.
[G] We could set the world [C] ablaze, but these [G] are early days, and there's still a hell of a road [D] for us to [G] wander.
And there's one near among [C] us, the one [G] that's not arrested, can tipple to his five [D]-o's and his praises.
[G] Till they strike him off the road, and chuck him down the hall, where your [D] fistful of half-dead [G] roses.
And we're here again, oh [C] again, let the [G] whiskey flow [C] again, [G] let the taps blow [D] again, sound away the mail.
And [G] like a fistful of roses, [C] we'll take him [G] to the grave, every [D] last tale there [G] is to tell.
And we're here again, [C] oh again, let [G] the whiskey [C] flow again, let [G] the taps [D] blow again, sound away the [G] mail.
And like a fistful of [C] roses, we'll take [G] him to the grave, every [D]
last tale [G] there is to tell.
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