The Mother Hips
A, Abm, B, Bm, E, Gb, Gbm
You gotta take me home for seven days
And take me where a girl can wrap me up
in her
womanly things
And the weary voice is not the one that sings
Tired we
The room has crews of California coastline
But an empty sail can bring it home no better
Than a guitar with no strings
And the weary voice is not the one that sings
Tired weary
Take me home, wings
There are phases I remember
But I really wasn't there
It's like the information super pipeline love affair
I said, yeah, how long
And the weary voice is not the one that sings
Tired wings, tired wings take me home, and now I'm ready to go, yeah.