Robbie Fulks Roots Rock Weirdos chords

Roots Rock Weirdos by Robbie Fulks

ROOTS ROCK WEIRDOES (Fulks) -- in Em
 
VS1
    Em                                              B7
The town was hardly stirring, the night clubs all were closed
Am                  Em        C9        B9      Em      C9-B9
Only a washed-up cover band hittin' the stage at Joe's
     Em                               Am
The guitar hit the first bar of "Secret Agent Man"
    Am7             G         B7                Em
A door in the back flew open, and into the room they ran!
 
CH
A7                    Em
Roots rock weirdoes, up from the underground
D                      B        G         A       Em
Starved for a Tele or a B3 -- any out-of-fashion sound
A7                    G          A7         Em
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
D                   A  Em
Dressed up like it's 1951.
 
VS2
            Em                                             B7
Well, they looked the band gear over and they noted with delight
    Am                 Em               C9          B9      Em      C9-B9
The guitar amp was a Bassman, and the bass man played upright
            Em                                                    Am
Then they looked 'round at each other, and they cried, "We Are The Best!
        Am7       G               B7                    Em
For we like unpopular music, and just look at the way we're dressed!"
 
CH2
A7                    Em
Roots rock weirdoes, slapping each others' backs
D                  B                G             A           Em
Using the hepcat language they thought made them sound black
A7                    G              A7         Em
Roots rock weirdoes, smoking their Camels straight
D                      A            Em
Makin' sure there was nothing up to date.
 
VS3
    Em                                                   B7
Now Joe, he was slow to anger, but that barkeep found it hard
        Am                Em          C9        B9    Em        C9-B9
Just to watch the air grow toxic with smoke and self-regard
        Em                                                  Am
So he jumped up on a barstool and he shouted out loud and clear:
        Am7             G                   B7              Em
"I don't know just what you weirdoes want, but I don't want you in here!"
 
VS4
    Em                                                 B7
The room grew deathly silent, then up from the stinking ranks
        Am             Em         C9      B9            Em      B9
Rose a homely social worker in a bowling shirt marked "Hank"
      Em                                                    Am
And dropping the fake black diction, he said, "Since you enquired,
    Am7                G                    C9          B7     Em   B7  Em
Let me take stock of what we roots rock -- ahem! -- 'weirdoes' desire...."
 
VS5
    Em                                             Am
Fishnets for every woman, and lipstick as red as flame
                G       B                   Em          B
For every man a tatoo, a Chevy, and a dumb nickname
      Em                                            Am      
Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve, black leather on every back,
                  G          B                  Em      B
Fanzines in every bookstore, LPs in each record rack.
 
VS6
        Em                                              Am
Three chords in every pop song!  Four white guys in each band!
                  G         B           Em  
A ruthless media empire to saturate this land
B           Em                                              Am
Then, with our alt.country comrades, and our brothers in neo-swing,
                    G                   B               Em
We'll reclaim music from the kids for our fat dead cracker king!"
 
CH3
A7                    Em
Roots rock weirdoes, Christ!  They're everywhere!
    D               B                      G           A          Em
A little Doc Pomus in their hearts and dark pomade in their hair
A7                    G          A7         Em
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
D                   A  Em
Dressed up like it's 1951.