This Beat Chords by The Jazzual Suspects

[G] Now it's jazz, the place is roaring, all beautiful girls in there, one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys,
one strange chick I remember from somewhere wearing a simple skirt with pockets, her hands in there,
short hair cut and slouched, talking to everybody.
Up and down the stairs they come, the bartenders of the regular band,
of Jack and the heavenly drummer who looks up [F#m] in the sky with blue eyes, with a beard.
[A] He's wailing beer caps of bottles and jamming at the cash [E] register and everything is going to the beat.
[F#] It's the beat [B] generation, it's beat, [F#m] it's the beat to keep, it's the beat [A] of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world
and like old time low down [G#m] and like in ancient civilizations the slave boatman rowing [F#m] galleys to a beat
and servants spinning [A] pottery to a beat. _ _
[C#m] _ _ [G#m] _ _ [F#] _ _ [B] _ [F#m] _
_ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[F#] _ _ [G#m] _ _ _ _ _ _
[F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[F#] _ _ [G#m] _ _ [F#] _ _ [G#m] _ _
[F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
_ _ [G#m] _ _ _ _ _ _
[F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ [F#m] _
_ _ [G#m] _ _ [D#m] _ _ [G#m] _ [D] _
_ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ [F#m] _
_ [E] _ _ _ [F#] _ _ [G#m] _ [F#m] _
_ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _ _
_ _ [G#m] _ _ [F#] _ _ [G#m] _ _
[F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] . _ _
[C#m] _ _ [G#m] _ _ [F#] _ _ [C#m] _ _
[F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[E] _ _ _ _ [F#] _ _ [E] _ _
[F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[E] _ _ _ _ _ _ _
[F#m] Faces, stand _ _ _ [A] _ _ now, [F#] colored [C#m] [B] clothes and wild and dizzy [D#m] but Jack is fading away looking over [C#m] the heads in smoke.
[F#m] He has a face that looks like everybody [A] you've ever known and seen on the street in your time, sweet [E] face,
hard to describe, sad [D#m] eyes, poor lips, [G#] expectant gleams swaying to [F#m] the beat,
calm and just a beating [A] from the goose to a _ [F#m] _
_ [B] beat whom you'll see on [D#m] Times Square slumbed on to [G#] the alert,
sad, sweet, [F#m] dark, _ his daughter [A] Jane, martyrs, tortured by [E] sidewalks, [G#m] starved for sex and [D#m] companionship,
open to [G#] anything, ready to [F#m] loosen worlds and struts, _ [A] colors make ten with the big [F#m] bone as bloating sunny stitch clear out [G#m] of Kansas City [D#m] roadhouses.
[B] He'd be somewhat dull and not [F#m] musical, I hear.
_ _ [A] _ _ _ [F#m] _
_ [E] _ _ _ [F#] _ [G#m] .
Understanding in [F#m] there, but the musician's _ _ [A] drummer is a sensational 12-year-old Negro boy who's not allowed [E] to drink but can [F#] play
and is a little [E] lithe, [F#m] childlike, while _ _ [A] like early fans of our old fans [E] who used to sing in his part are all a bit [B] small.
He [E] plunders at the drums with a [F#m] beat and may appear near standing, on [A] the circuit with the ray as a fabulous beat,
[E] on piano with Watney Bill, [F#] nut to drive any group.
[E] Now [F#m] Jack Ringer blows out and over his head with these angels [C#m] from Fillmore, [A] I dig him, now he's terrific.
[E] I just stand in the outside hall [B] against the wall, no beer [E] necessary with collections of [F#m] inbound listeners.
Ernie, now here [A] returned, Bob Furman, who was a kid who was too _ [G#m] barfed to do my [F#] part six months earlier,
[G#m] was Dean in the [F#m] gig and I had a chipmunker in an argument who loved to [A] snitch on each other. _ _
[E] The perfect piece is [G#m] dancing casual like Joe Louis, casually [F#m] hoofing.
Now, in [A] dancing like that, what, everybody looks everywhere, it's a jazz [G#m]-mute and beat generation, [D#m] that trick.
[B] You see someone, [F#m] hi, _ _ _ [A] _ he's a little fat, [F#] way [E] around him, coming in from everywhere in [D#m] the sound of the jazz,
[G#m] _ _
[F#m] bang, the drummer takes us all over, [A] reaching his young hands all over traps and pills and [E] cymbals and the [F#] faddad.
[E] _ _ _ [F#m] _ _ _ _ [A] _ _ _ _
[E] _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _