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Intro: A D A Bm Nobokov is sun-licked now D Upon the beach at Gruenwald Bm Brilliant and naked just G The way that authors looks A Bm Clare and Lady Manners drink D Until the other cows go home Bm Gossip till their lips are bleeding G Politics and all A Em A I'd rather be high A Em A I'd rather be flying Dm I'd rather be dead F#m Or out of my head Dm D Than training these guns on those men in the sand D I'd rather be high A Bm The Thames was black, the tower dark D I flew to Cairo, find my regiment Bm City's full of generals G And generals full of shit A Bm I stumble to the graveyard and I D Lay down by my parents, whisper Bm Just remember duckies G Everybody gets got A Em A I'd rather be high Em A I'd rather be flying Dm I'd rather be dead F#m Or out of my head Dm D Than training these guns of those men in the sand A I'd rather be high D A I'm seventeen and my looks can prove it D A I'm so afraid that I will lose it E I'd rather smoke and phone my ex C7 Be pleading for some teenage sex A Yeah Em A I'd rather be high Em A I'd rather be flying Dm I'd rather be dead F#m Or out of my head Dm D Than training these guns on the men in the sand A I'd rather be high
Written by David Bowie
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