Paycheques chords by Tex Perkins

PAYCHEQUES ? TEX PERKINS

D  G  D  G  D  G  A   x 2


D             G          D             G      D                 G          A
Friday's for funerals, Saturday's for brides, I guess I'll take Sunday as mine
D            G   D              G    Bm       A        G
Coz on weekends, I perform miracles, I turn paycheques into wine
Bm               A         D         G   D  G
One working weeks wage at a time


D                  G  D                   G    D              G              A
Well maybe it's time, we're getting' on home,  the sun is hangin' low in the sky
          D        G              D         G
And the wine in my head, turns to lurid thoughts
     Bm       A          G    Bm                A       D         G   D  G
And it disorganises my mind,  But I seem to be that way inclined

       D             G         D                G    D                  G           A
Woo and,   all these girls,    they tempt me lord,   with their long and flowing hair
     D      G         D          G       Bm         A               G
But I only ask for the one I've lost,  Who's perfume still fills the air
    Bm          A         D         G   D  G
Well it's more than I can bare


D           G      D          G       D             G        A
Should I go hungry, leave it alone , or make it back home to my bed
      D            G      D       G
And the merciful sleep,  of a drunken man
Bm               A                  G    Bm              A                   D         G   D  G
And drown all the things that she said,  from goin' round and round in my head


Bm  G  Bm   G   Bm   G   A       D   G   D    G    D   G   A


D                  G   D              G         D              G          A
Friday's for funerals, Saturday's for brides, I guess I'll take Sunday as mine
D            G    D          G         Bm       A        G
Coz on weekends, I perform miracles, I turn paycheques into wine
Bm             A            D         G   D  G
One working weeks wage at a time


  D                      G         D           G           D           G          A
And in the mornin',   as shadows fall longer,  I sink back deep in my chair
 D       G     D       G     Bm       A           G
And I fall into a reverie,  imaginin' that she's there
            Bm           A       D           G   D  G
But it's more than I can bare

  D                  G            D                 G      D           G              A
Well if Friday's for funerals and Saturday's for brides, I guess I'll take Sunday as mine
 D          G       D       G         Bm        A          G
On weekends, I perform miracles, by turnin' paycheques into wine
  Bm             A           D         G   D  G  D  G
Memories of her into wine