Wedding Bells are Breaking Up That Old Gang of Mine

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D
Went to see the new 
Em
baby,
  
and we smoked 
A
weed on the back 
G
porch.
  
And, 
D
lying on my back with the pool 
Em
floatie,
  
“Raining 
A
Blood” just thundering 
G
forth,
  
I said, “
D
what do you say your 
F♯m
parents take your place
  
for an 
A
hour? We can drive 
G
downtown,
  
to our 
D
old favorite place, let the 
F♯m
years just melt away,
  
and find our
A
selves back where we were 
G
found.”
  
But there’s not a 
D
soul down on the co
Em
rner,
  
and that’s a 
A
pretty certain 
G
sign
  
that I 
D
shouldn’t try to play the 
Em
reformer,
  
picking up 
A
pieces of that old gang of 
G
mine.
  
But 
D
what would they say if it 
F♯m
went the other way,
  
and we flew to 
A
today through ten years of 
G
time?
  
They’d 
D
be ashamed. I’m so 
F♯m
sure they’d be ashamed
  
at what I 
A
claim to be doing with my 
G
life.
  
Now they’re 
D
all paired off and 
Em
kissing
  
the 
A
other half good
G
night,
  
and then 
D
falling deep into the 
Em
same sleep
  
while walls and warm 
A
sheets shut out the 
G
light.
  
And I’m the 
D
only one, at the 
F♯m
top of my lungs,
  
who’s still 
A
singing sweet ade
G
lines.
  
They’re 
D
all filled up, they 
F♯m
don’t need the love
  
that I’m 
A
bringing that old gang of 
G
mine.
  
Not a 
D
soul down on the 
Em
corner,
  
they’re all safe sitting 
A
down behind smooth sheets of 
G
glass.
  
I guess it’s 
D
not going to get any 
Em
warmer,
  
and I guess it’s raining 
A
slow until it’s raining 
G
fast.
End on D