Tom: Gm
G Em C Cm
[Verse 1]
G Em
We're the band with our own label
C Cm G
That's money under the table, that's answering to no one
Em
still, bands just love to hate us
C Cm G
Talking shit behind us, but smiling to our face
[Verse 2]
Bb Gm
That's OK, it's not that they don't like us
Eb Ebm
They're just a little jealous, cause
Bb
we're having more fun
(the band that wouldn't die)
Gm Eb
We're the self-crowned kings of candor, sultans of slander
Ebm Bb
Bastions of D.I.Y.
[Verse 3]
C F Bb
Which means we make more money, we've got better prescriptions
Gm C
We own most our own music, no one's got hands in our pockets
F Bb
We don't have management, we get to play loaded
Gm
and only 3 months a year
C F
Some years we just take off, vacations are a write off,
Bb
and so is goin' out (fuck us)
Gm
I suppose that's how we'll go out,
Eb Ebm Bb
played out and way after our time
Gm Eb Ebm
Gm
