The Brigadier chords by Jake Thackray

• Difficulty: Intermediate 💪

Verse 1:
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
Up where we live we’ve got everything,
Bm          F#m7         Bm    F#m7
We’ve got a cuckoo and a nightingale,
Bm          F#m7     Bm           F#m7
We’ve got a shop and chapel and a boozer
A              D F#
  And a little jail.
Bm          F#m7       Bm          F#m7
We’ve got a brain-sick witch and a cricket pitch,
Bm          F#m7       Bm        F#m7
We’ve got a pump and a duck pond here,
   Bm         F#m7       Bm          F#m7
A vicar and a blacksmith and a local idiot
G           F#                    Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm
 And a brigadier, a frigging brigadier.

Bridge 2:
G   F#   Bm
Let the caravans come
 G   A    D
let the charabancs roll!
G             F#    Bm
Tripping our hills, picking our daffodils
C#                       F#
Getting stuck in our holes. We don’t care.

Verse 2:
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
We don’t mind trippers and scouts and ramblers,
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
They can come and stand in the rain all day.
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
They give us money and beer and a right good belly laugh,
A            D F#
Then they go away.
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
But who pins medals on the chests of our children?
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
Who pins a rose on our biggest pig’s ear?
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
Who pins a little red poppy on our cenotaph?
G           F#               Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.

Bridge 2:
G   F#  Bm
Let the bearded wonders come.
G       A           D
Whether we like or not
G     F#          Bm
They squat in the cottages of our ancestors
C#                   F#
Making bloody pottery! We don’t care.

Verse 3:
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
We get drunk, we get rowdy,
Bm       F#m7               Bm        F#m7
And we get nicked when the flatfeet come;
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
How are we judged? By whose almighty
A          D F#
Finger and thumb?
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
Not by Bacchus’s, not by Jupiter’s.
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
Not by Solomon’s. We’re summonsed to appear
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
Underneath the beak of his week-a-day worship
G           F#               Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.

Bridge 3:
G       F#        Bm
Let the rain-god come,
G            A        D
spitter and spat and spout.
G     F#          Bm
At least he’s a god who is impartial:
C#              F#
He waggles it about. We don’t care.

Verse 4:
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
On a Sunday when the vicar admonishes our wickedness
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
Whose “Amen” resounds down the aisle?
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
Who reads the Sermon on the Mount with a Holy
A          D F#
Ghost of a smile?
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
Who takes the wine? Who takes the biscuit?
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
Who brings the plate? Who bends the ear?
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
Singing of his hopes for a new Jerusalem,
G           F#               Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.

Bridge 4:
G       F#        Bm
Let God’s pale archangel
     G   A      D
the Grim Reaper come;
G        F#        Bm
He can hack my bones, he can step upon my gravestone,
C#                F#
He can kiss my bum. I don’t care.

Verse 5:
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
If he wants my chimneys, if he wants my acres,
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
If he wants my trout, if he wants my grouse,
Bm       F#m7 Bm        F#m7
If he wants gold and silver titbits,
A                     D F#
   He’s got the wrong house.
Bm       F#m7    Bm        F#m7
He can rattle my latch, bang my knocker,
Bm          F#m7          Bm     F#m7
There’s not one whit of a titbit here;
   Bm            F#m7   Bm           F#m7
Go tap with his dainty sickle on the windowpane
G           F#               Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm F#m7 Bm
Of the brigadier, The frigging brigadier.