You Can't Hold the Hand of a Rock and Roll Man

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Intro:
G |———2———2———2—2———2———
D |—————2—————————2—————  repeat
A |——0——————0———————————
E |—————————————————————
A
This week’s cash for last week’s grass your crew coll
D
ates,
  
while you sit 
Bm
in the van and wait. 
A
Gassed and trashed and smashed young cads roasting a
D
way 
  
on a 
Bm
sunny summer day (or, o
E
kay, an August night anyw
F♯m
ay),
D
and you’re living on 
E
air, while on the 25th floor, up 
F♯m
there,
  
they’d fan a million 
D
bucks before your 
E
face. 
  
Marie’s 
D
passed out in a 
E
chair with her once fussed-over 
F♯m
hair 
  
all mussed into an 
D
I’ve just been fucked 
E
shape.
  
Just an hour before, she 
A
crashed, all cashed. 
  
She said, “I’m done with looking back, and you look your 
D
age 
  
— which is 
Bm
thirty-seven, by the 
E
way, and not twenty-
F♯m
eight. 
D
And fucking let them 
E
stare, because at this point I don’t 
F♯m
care. 
  
I have been your bride stripped 
D
bare since ’9
E
8. 
  
And our 
D
silver-screen aff
E
air, it weighs less to me than 
F♯m
air.
  
It’s a gas now. It’s a 
D
laugh just how far 
E
several mil can take it.”
repeat intro
A
This week’s as fast as last week’s flash of inter
D
state, 
  
when you 
Bm
starved and never ate. 
A
This week’s splashed a sick, gold cast across your 
D
face, 
  
as you roam on silk, ripped 
Bm
tippy-toe a
E
lone through Silver 
F♯m
lake —
D
splayed astride a snow-white 
E
mare, on a non-stop all-night 
F♯m
tear. 
  
What a ghastly sight you 
D
smear in every 
E
face. 
  
In that 
D
fat, fur-trimmed af
E
fair that your lawyer lets you 
F♯m
wear,
  
you’ll destroy your chance to 
D
ever get re
E
peatedly engaged.