Robbie Fulks
Roots Rock Weirdos Ukulele Chords
ROOTS ROCK WEIRDOES (Fulks) -- in Em
VS1
Dm E7
The town was hardly stirring, the night clubs all were closed
Dm Dm F9 E9 Dm F9-E9
Only a washed-up cover band hittin' the stage at Joe's
Dm Dm
The guitar hit the first bar of "Secret Agent Man"
Dm7 C E7 Dm
A door in the back flew open, and into the room they ran!
CH
D7 Dm
Roots rock weirdoes, up from the underground
G E C D Dm
Starved for a Tele or a B3 -- any out-of-fashion sound
D7 C D7 Dm
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
G D Dm
Dressed up like it's 1951.
VS2
Dm E7
Well, they looked the band gear over and they noted with delight
Dm Dm F9 E9 Dm F9-E9
The guitar amp was a Bassman, and the bass man played upright
Dm Dm
Then they looked 'round at each other, and they cried, "We Are The Best!
Dm7 C E7 Dm
For we like unpopular music, and just look at the way we're dressed!"
CH2
D7 Dm
Roots rock weirdoes, slapping each others' backs
G E C D Dm
Using the hepcat language they thought made them sound black
D7 C D7 Dm
Roots rock weirdoes, smoking their Camels straight
G D Dm
Makin' sure there was nothing up to date.
VS3
Dm E7
Now Joe, he was slow to anger, but that barkeep found it hard
Dm Dm F9 E9 Dm F9-E9
Just to watch the air grow toxic with smoke and self-regard
Dm Dm
So he jumped up on a barstool and he shouted out loud and clear:
Dm7 C E7 Dm
"I don't know just what you weirdoes want, but I don't want you in here!"
VS4
Dm E7
The room grew deathly silent, then up from the stinking ranks
Dm Dm F9 E9 Dm E9
Rose a homely social worker in a bowling shirt marked "Hank"
Dm Dm
And dropping the fake black diction, he said, "Since you enquired,
Dm7 C F9 E7 Dm E7 Dm
Let me take stock of what we roots rock -- ahem! -- 'weirdoes' desire...."
VS5
Dm Dm
Fishnets for every woman, and lipstick as red as flame
C E Dm E
For every man a tatoo, a Chevy, and a dumb nickname
Dm Dm
Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve, black leather on every back,
C E Dm E
Fanzines in every bookstore, LPs in each record rack.
VS6
Dm Dm
Three chords in every pop song! Four white guys in each band!
C E Dm
A ruthless media empire to saturate this land
E Dm Dm
Then, with our alt.country comrades, and our brothers in neo-swing,
C E Dm
We'll reclaim music from the kids for our fat dead cracker king!"
CH3
D7 Dm
Roots rock weirdoes, Christ! They're everywhere!
G E C D Dm
A little Doc Pomus in their hearts and dark pomade in their hair
D7 C D7 Dm
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
G D Dm
Dressed up like it's 1951.
